


Beyond the Looking Glass

by Shinigamiinochi



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: AU, Blood, Death, Ghosts, Gore, Horror, M/M, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:03:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 122,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3572363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinigamiinochi/pseuds/Shinigamiinochi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the small town of Nasue, Japan, on the top of the highest hill sits a mansion that all of the residents agree is haunted. Despite all the warnings of people disappearing and being murdered, Heero and his group of friends decide to visit and research the mansion for a school project. While there, they are mercilessly stalked and haunted by a spirit in a blood soaked kimono. Trapped in an endless night of horror, the group must unravel the mysteries of the mansion's disturbing past if they have any hope of surviving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

Beyond the Looking Glass  
   
Author’s Notes: Oh, what to say about this story. First off, I started this a long time ago, so please excuse some less than stellar writing in the beginning. Second, this story came about after years of playing Fatal Frame and is kind of an homage to it. Warnings are kind of all over the place. There's sex, death, lots of gore and blood and creepy supernatural things happening, angst, tragedy, even more death, mentions of child abuse, ritual murder, cannibalism, and just generally a lot of things that make this not a very happy story. It's dark and depressing and pretty much no character is safe. I will also say that while this is a horror story with elements of mystery, it is still essentially a love story, just a really messed up one.   
   
Pairings: there are a lot of these, but this is mostly a 1x2 and 3x4 story with some unrequited R+1 and 6+5 thrown in there.

 

Prelude: The Beginning  
   
 _Excerpts from the journal of Professor G_____, found by officer Takanawa at the Matsuei Mansion on October 13, 2003:_  
   
   
September 26, 2003  
   
          After many hours of preparing, my colleagues and I are finally on the road to Nasue, a small rural village on the northern coast of Japan. It has been thirteen long years since I started by career in the area of paranormal research, but this is the first time my friends and I will be able to put our theories to practice. It is very exciting, even as our old rental car, packed to the brim with supplies and equipment, journeys through the rocky, forest paths towards the huge mansion that I can see now, just over the horizon. The town cannot truly be called a village anymore as it is just as advanced as Tokyo, though much smaller and more intimate. Still, when we arrived in Nasue this morning, it felt like we had taken a step through time. But, I’m getting ahead of myself. Everyone in this field has reasons for being here, experiences as a child, superstitious parents, perhaps, but I know that I am taking this long journey from England to Japan because of my natural curiosity. I had always had a deep interest in monsters and specters as a child and I had never been a non-believer. I, like any self-respecting scientist, have a healthy attitude towards disbelief, but I also have an open mind, unlike my colleague J who is sitting in the front seat, a death grip on his precious lap top. We have been struggling for years to try to take a trip such as this. It seems that men such as us can only exist as professors, teaching children while our dreams and aspirations rot in the corner of our minds, but after many, many years of pleading, the university has allowed us to go, if only to laugh at us when we return, tails between our legs. There had been much argument where we should go, but in my mind at least, the Matsuei Mansion was the only fitting place for our expedition.   
          Some say that Japan is the most haunted place on earth, with its clinging to old traditions and ritual, the Shinto temples that line any rural path and the superstition that many of its people still practice. That is certainly true here in Nasue, as many people shy away from us and become tight lipped at the mere mention of where we are going. Some make old signs at us and one kind old lady even gave H a good luck charm. Such fear and superstition is not odd in the fields that we study, but it still makes me nervous. S offered to look at the supposed World’s Most Haunted Places list for our destination, but I suggested something a little bit more mature. It is true, in this day and age the term paranormal research is usually saved for TV shows where shaky cameras follow hosts as they run around old castles as they scream and claim that they are being chased by some unseen specter. People like us are a dying breed, but I refuse to debase myself to the title of primetime entertainment. The Matsuei Mansion will never make that list for a very simple reason. It has never been successfully labeled as haunted. There is no proof simply because people become spirited away when they go to that place. They disappear, or show up dead. It seems like the typical ghost story: In Japan there stands a mansion where many have died and it is assumed to be haunted. All who enter the house die or disappear, only, that isn’t quite the truth. Some die, some disappear, but others simply go mad just by entering the place. Of course, there’s still doubts, as there always are in legends such as these, though there is some oddness about the legend. People will disappear in the region, then reappear days later horribly mutilated. There are stories like this all around the world, but there is something about that place that scares all of us, even J, though he refuses to admit it. Paranormal research itself is not a lucrative field. In this, you are either mocked or ignored, but there is some fun in it. In all of my years of teaching, I had never left England, but here I was in Japan and I have to admit, it is a beautiful place.  
          The road leading to the huge mansion rocked the car and J swore as he was jostled. It was obvious that the dirt, forest road was rarely used anymore and the car struggled up it. J, H, S, O, and I have been working together for the past ten years. I, personally, study the energy force given off by paranormal events. It is an odd thing to believe, but paranormal energy, if examined and somehow harnessed, could be used as a replacement for electricity and fuel. It is a private theory of mine, but one that is hard to prove. H is more impressed by the psychological element that seems to follow these events. He thinks that there are some people who are more susceptible to paranormal events due to psychic frequencies. S used to be a mechanic and is very interested in the paranormal influence on man made appliances and metal. O studies the affects that supernatural events can have on the physical body while our skeptical friend J is more concerned with the science behind paranormal research. If one of us can find one thing, one spark, I would consider this long trip worth while.   
   
          The house looms through the trees, sending a chill down my spine. If I squint, I can see a shadowy figure in one of the wood barred windows, but I am sure that it is just my over expecting imagination.  
  
September 27, 2003  
  
    We set up the equipment in various rooms of the mansions successfully. This place truly is massive, so we kept to only a few rooms to keep from being overwhelmed. It is a beautiful old house, but is so big and everything seems to echo in here. The first thing that we noticed when we entered the mansion through the huge doors was the amount of mirrors in this place. Considering the state at which the previous owners left this mansion, it is odd to note that none of these mirrors are covered. Something of interest to note is that many of the people we interviewed about this mansion called this place ‘The Mirror House’, and I can see why. There are many rituals and superstitions revolving around mirrors in this region. All over the world, mirrors hold a strong significance in the supernatural. Mirrors are said to be a reflection of the soul. If you looked into a mirror, you could see your inner self. Some believe that that is why it was considered bad luck to break a mirror. Mirrors cannot lie, they can only show the truth. So, if there is something missing from the mirror’s reflection, this is seen as a truly bad sign and the likewise is obviously true as well. H jokingly said that it was a very good thing that everything was as it should be when we passed a full length mirror on the entrance wall.   
    Even in the United States, people were overwhelmed by the power of mirrors. During a wake or funeral, all of the mirrors were covered because it was believed that the person’s soul would become trapped forever in the mirror. It was for this reason that we assumed the mirrors would be covered in this house since the last owner’s son died here before they left, but I suppose that one of the other visitors might have taken the cloths off. They say that if you cannot see your reflection than that means you have lost your soul.   
All of our reflections are here as I sit here, watching the equipment.     The tatami underneath me feel oddly comfortable considering that they are quite old and not as sturdy as they once were. Vines grow everywhere, looking like ancient, spiny snakes with small, bright red flowers, looking like spots of blood. However, something troubles me. Last night, I was awaken by the sweet chime of a bell. It sounded so beautiful, yet, oddly, so sad. I had turned on my side and my eyes met the mirror. Even though I was snug in my sleeping bag, my compatriots sleeping next to me in their, I felt a very strong chill going down my spine. In the mirror was a figure dressed in what looked like a pure white kimono, looking down on me as I slept, but when I blinked, the image was gone. Was it just a dream, my imagination, perhaps? I’m not sure, but the equipment did not read anything, so I will brush it off as nothing for now. Tomorrow we will go upstairs and check those rooms with our equipment.   
  
September 28, 2003  
  
    There is one mirror legend that scares me to death in this place. Some consider mirrors to be a gateway to other worlds, hell, darkness; mirrors are a way for ghosts and demons to pass through. Yesterday, I would have laughed at that, but now… I’m not so sure. H told me that he saw something in one of the mirrors upstairs. He heard the sweet chime of a bell and a glimpse of a reddish kimono. Was that the same thing I saw? Why did he see red when I saw white? I would have not given it much credence if not for the equipment in that room. At the time that H saw the apparition, the temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees and the energy reading spiked, as though the room was red hot with electricity. There is no electricity in this place. J scoffed at all of this, predictably, but I can’t get the sound of that bell out of my mind. It scorched into me like a brand. Tonight I put my jacket over the mirror, but it didn’t make me feel any safer.   
  
September 29, 2003  
  
    Ghosts… it is the apparition of someone who has died… they look the same as them and are connected to the places where they lived and died, sometimes living in the things that they had loved or died in. However, there is also a belief that ghosts are demons. Demons… a few days ago, I would have said that such things were impossible, but after tonight, I’m not so sure anymore. I had believed that paranormal events could create energy. If that is true, then it has become true that that energy can do anything. Some say that a ghost is just a replay of that person’s death, so what is this one telling me.  
    I’m getting ahead of myself again. Tonight we continued to explore the mansion. So far, we have been very pleased with the results of our findings. Certain rooms give off strong energy readings. J believes that their might be power lines somewhere in the house, but that seems unlikely to me. I slept well the night before and thought that perhaps H and I had had a shared delusion. However, tonight S and I went to check out the Hanging Hallway. There are no mirrors there, which is strange considering the rest house has them. I heard the chime of the bell, but when S asked me about it, I realized that it was not my imagination. There was a flash of white behind us when we walked down the achingly long hallway. It was S that spun around, but it had disappeared. We heard a high pitched sound immediately after that. To me, it sounded like a child screaming, but S wasn’t so convinced. He became very excited after that, saying that he believed the ‘ghost’ had indeed found a way to communicate through some electrical currents. I do not believe that this is the case.   
    I was walking back to the room we have claimed as our own when I heard the floorboards creak behind me. I do not know what to think of these things anymore, it makes me feel like I am going mad, but still I turned around. There was nothing there, but I could have sworn that I felt soft hair brush my shoulder as I turned. O and J think that we are being childish, but J looks very unsettled. I will have to look out for him.  
  
September 30, 2003  
  
    I am sure that there is something following me around this place. It chases me from mirror to mirror; the flash of white, the chime of a bell… is it really a ghost? Why is it haunting us? Who’s ghost is it? And why is it now that our equipment is spiking so severely? H wants to leave, he is scared, but J calls him a moron, that we are doing too well to leave. As scared as I am of the haunting figure, I have to agree. In the days I have been here, I have gathered more data than in my entire lifetime! To think, this place is really haunted! I have uncovered the mirror. I hope that this spirit will learn to trust me and show his or her face. The air is cold now and we have gathered our clothes to create warmth. J is attached to his computer again. I hear a voice in the back of my head, begging for relief of the darkness. J still does not believe that there is a ghost here, but he refuses to leave and he has become excited, almost frantic. I wonder how one lures out a ghost? I wonder if I want to…   
  
October 2, 2003  
  
    A lot has happened in the last couple of days. Our equipment is going haywire and we are now seeing that figure in almost ever mirror. Can they not leave the mirror? Are they trapped there? H is terrified of the spirit, but it hasn’t done anything more than watch us. It seems friendly enough, simply following us around like a lost puppy dog. I can’t help but think of it as ‘our’ ghost, if that is what it is and I am still not convinced. It could be a psychic echo, like H thinks. J still believes that it is all in our minds, but he didn’t sleep last night and I can tell he is even more afraid than O or H. O doesn’t sleep so well anymore and he has developed a cough, probably because of the dry air up here. I offered to go back into the village to get him some medicine, but J said that would destroy the experiment. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s just as obsessed with out mirror visitor as H and S are. Right now I am pouring over the notes we originally took on the mansion. When we had first arrived, we had thought that we might witness something, a small spark, but now, our expectations have been met and surpassed. I can’t help but think of the people that have died in this place, though. I do not think the mirror ghost killed them, it seems unlikely since we are still alive, unless it is just playing with us, like a cat with a mouse, before we are devoured, but there is something about that sad chiming of the bell that makes me not want to believe that. That bell makes me feel so lost, I want to help the mirror ghost, but I can’t until I find out who it is and what it wants.   
    The Matsuei Mansion certainly has a rich history. It was built sometime in the fourteen hundreds as a place of Shinto worship, back then it had no name and, according to several folklorist journals, it was a crime to speak of it in the village. I am not sure specifically why, but it appears that some Priests were keeping the villagers away and called it a ‘sacred place’ at the same time their actions showed some fear. In 1432, there was a terrible occurrence, a sketchy witness report claims that there was some sort of explosion in the village which caused the deaths of everyone who lived there and that explosion had originated from this mansion. That seems unlikely, however, since the place remained intact. Yet, even the people in this place died. There is no doubt of that since there are more detailed reports about the state of the bodies and how they were literally ripped to shreds. Until 1575, the temple remained untouched, legends of a curse keeping everyone away. In 1575, the Matsuei family laid claim to the temple and turned it into a home. The family was massive, their origins reaching from England to Russia to Japan. People in the village whispered about them, calling them mixed blood, but they were also afraid of the power that the Matsuei held. The head of the family was a man named Hirotaka, a very rich, powerful man, who, in his later years, became quite insane from dementia, though the people in the village seem to think it was the house and not a mental illness.   
    No one knows why, but Hirotaka fell to the same fate as the priests and holed up in the mansion, never coming to the village, his family sending servants for their supplies. There are rumors that he continued the work of the Shinto priests after finding something in the house. Up until 1897, the Matsuei lived in the house, generation after generation, isolated in that place, until the head of the house, a third Japanese, third American, third German man, lost his son for some reason and he and the rest of the family left for Germany. Even when the Matsuei had occupied the mansion, there had been many deaths there. The peculiar thing is the number of deaths, 67 people in eleven years and the last to die in that year was always a member of the Matsuei family. Ritual sacrifice comes to mind in this case. Just to calculate is a terrifying thing: from 1575 to 1897, that is a 322 year span, over two thousand people had died in that place or disappeared after visiting there. The sick thing is that the 67th person was always a child. Such a thing… I cannot even begin to comprehend it. To think that the thing stalking us could be one of those children makes me want to weep. Since the Matsuei have left, there have been over three hundred deaths and disappearances.   
    As I have said before, this mansion is massive and it is unclear which rooms existed in the temple and which were built later when this place was converted into a home. There are many rooms since the entire Matsuei line lived here together. Many of these rooms seem to have a certain purpose, though what that could be, I am not prepared to speculate, and several of these rooms aren’t even on the house plans! Through gossip alone, there is talk that there is a secret room underneath this place that had been built by the Shinto priests. However, this is not on the plans, but that means nothing to me. The long hallway of ropes is not on those plans, either. It is a huge stretch of hallway, spanning two miles and seems to go on forever when you are walking it. From the rafters, hundreds of ropes are hung. There lays some truth behind our theory of ritual sacrifice in this place and there are both legends and journals from folklorists saying that sacrifices of the old Shinto order would hang the sacrifices from those ropes for ten days.   
    There is an old well in the courtyard. The courtyard itself is quite beautiful with wild cherry trees and more of those strange vines with red flowers. The well is indeed an old, stone thing and has long since dried up. Legend says that the sacrifices were buried in a secret passageway that connects to the bottom of that well and their graves were marked by hundreds of pinwheels that turned even in the stillness. It was probably ritual for the priests to empty the water when they buried their sacrifices, but if such a place exists, we do not wish to search for it, since the trip down the well is a long one, especially in the darkness and it looks treacherous. The scratches along the inner walls of the well are a testament to that. It looks like some poor soul fell down there at one point.   
On the first floor of the mansion is a huge room with tatami mats that have dark stains on them. When we found this room, H believed, and still does, that there was a massacre in there and the stains are old blood. I am not so sure, but the idea frightens me. When we explored the second floor bedrooms, I found a peculiar thing in one of them. There are several stone locks to secret rooms and some we have managed to solve. One of these ‘passageways’ led to a third floor and a room above the bedroom.   
    It was a cell, hard wood creating a prison with only small gaps to see out of and no windows. J believed that at one point the house served as a place to store prisoners of the village, but when we opened it up, we found dolls and drawings and toys and books, not advanced enough for an adult. The idea that children were once sacrificed in this place returned to me and I had to leave the cell immediately.   
    Yesterday we explored the head of mansion’s old room. It is a large bedroom filled with beautiful red paper lanterns and a large mirror. It was an opulent room, fitting for someone with great wealth and I imagined how beautiful it would look with the lanterns lit, but didn’t dare waste our lighters. On the second floor was a room that, oddly, had small wooden dolls with red and black dyed straw for hair that had ropes tied around their necks and were hanging from the ceiling. However, that is not the strangest thing about this room, there is also the matter of the side wall. The entire mansion, considering the era of which it was built, is made of stone and wood, not metal. The wall no longer truly exists; it has been blown back, the supports curled outward like the teeth of a tremendous mouth. It was that that struck me as strange, a force that could curl wood in that way. However, when I asked J about it, he informed me that no force in the scientific world could bend but not break wood. I wonder if a ghost did that, but it seems so… violent.   
  
October 4, 2003  
  
    For many years, there have been legends and rumors of the rituals that the masters of the Matsuei family have performed. However, when we asked around the village, people either pledged ignorance on the topic or simply ignored us. There was fear on the face of every person we asked. What could possibly be so scary about something that happened over a hundred years ago? If it happened at all? People refused to speak to us after we asked that question, everyone except for one woman. We could tell that she was in need of money, sitting on a street corner with her four young children, peddling some handmade pottery. After giving her 5,000 yen from my own pocket money, she was more than willing to talk to us. J rolled his eyes at my charity, muttering under his breath about my softness for women and children. I didn’t correct him because it was true. I don’t have a family of my own and the sight of her hungry children struck me in the heart. Perhaps that is why the idea that the mirror ghost is a child is so painful to me?   
    The woman was fairly old and the children were in fact her grandchildren and her daughter and son in law had died a few years ago. Without a job, it was difficult for her to take care of the children, but she was trying. As a child, her own grandmother had told her one of the stories of their village. The whole thing sounded so fantastical that even I was skeptical to its validity. J told me later that he believed that the woman was senile, but I have no doubt that she believed it to be the truth. Apparently, many, many years ago, there was a sacred ritual to appease something that she referred to as ‘The Darkness.’ According to her, the Darkness was the greatest evil in the world. It was evil, fear, and death. The Darkness can consume a person and become like a parasite, feeding off the negative emotions of everyone it comes in contact with and killing every living thing. The ritual had been started after the death of the Shinto priests of so long ago by the Matsuei family master. The woman said that her grandmother thought that the priests had found a gateway to the Darkness, but had been unsuccessful in sealing it off, which had resulted in the death of everyone in the village. Rituals have been a part of the culture of Japan for a very long time, but the nature of this so-called ‘Mirror Ritual’ freezes my blood and I know that my friends feel the same. J appeared even shakier after hearing the following story.  
*****  
    Every eleven years, in 98 concurrent days, 66 people must be brought in front of the Sacred Mirror and killed. On the 99th day, a Shrine Maiden that has been raised specifically for this purpose, must shatter the mirror and use it to cut up her body, then be strangled by their mother or father or other member of the family. In death, the Shrine Maiden will take the Darkness inside of her body as both the Darkness and the Shrine Maiden will be contained within the shards of mirror. The parent or other member of the family will put the shards back together and the Shrine Maiden’s spirit will seal the mirror, which is the gate to the world of Darkness, keeping it from entering our world for another eleven years. The Shrine Maiden will live in the Darkness, with the power of all of the Shrine Maidens before her, for the rest of existence, keeping the Darkness from pouring out of the mirror. The woman also told us that if the ritual is broken, the Darkness can fracture the Shrine Maiden’s soul. This can also happen if the Shrine Maiden’s soul is in turmoil with itself. J could barely contain his laughter at the story, but both he and O look disturbed.  
*****  
    Tonight I lie in my sleeping bag, staring at the mirror in the room, and think of that legend. I have heard of many cruel things in my life, but to think that a man would raise a child like it was cattle, just for the mere purpose of killing her… it is such a horrible thing… Superstition truly is the root of fear and, dare I say it, evil. I wonder where they got the 66 other sacrifices… the death regards are concurrent with the legend and I don’t doubt that the ritual existed at one point, but I do not believe in any such ‘Darkness’, only the evil that comes from the hearts of men. Perhaps the spirit in the mirror is one of the unfortunate souls that was kidnapped and killed or… could it be a young girl that had been a part of this mansion’s family? I cannot imagine the sort of terrible mentality that would create such a ritual. What was it that the Shinto priests found anyway? It was probably the same old age old fear of mirrors.   
I continue to watch the mirror, hoping I will see our mystery visitor when I feel a strange touch on my shoulder. I tell O to mind his space when I heard it.  
“I’m waiting.”  
  
October 5, 2003  
  
    Shrine Maidens, called ‘Miko’ here in Japan, still exist today as female helpers at shrines, but many years ago, they had another purpose. ‘Miko’ were women that could see things, prophets, shamaness’, mediums, they were oracles, sacred virgins. In ancient times, these women would go into deep trances and give prophecies. However, as time went on, miko became the daughters of the head Priest, and they mostly performed ritual dances and helped in ceremonies. Nowadays, Shrine Maidens are employees or volunteers of shrines, but a long time ago, they were virgins with sacred powers and always female. It is because of this that the names of those that died on the 99th day confuse me. If all of those that were sacrificed on that day were Shrine Maidens and therefore female, why are there male names on that list and why, on some of the scraps of journal that we managed to scrounge up from previous members of the Matsuei family, were some of males of the family also called Shrine Maidens? Apparently, the family was not discriminate in their choices of sacrifice which raises a lot of questions in my mind. If it is not specifically the Shrine Maiden that is important, maybe it is the child of the head of the family, which does seem to be the case.   
    Everything is going so wrong. I try to delve myself into my research, ignoring the states of my colleagues, but now it is impossible. The equipment has stopped working, or rather, they pick up nothing, even the things that our eyes are seeing. Is it mass hysteria? Are we all going mad? O is very, very sick, he coughs nonstop and sleeps most of the day and I fear that it has become something that we will not be able to stop. He is so pale and shakes. J spends all day on the computer, going over old data and muttering constantly. S and H spend their days wandering the mansion while I watch the mirrors. I can feel madness creeping up on me. I can see the figure in the corner of my eyes, but it always disappears when I turn around. At night, I can hear it whispering at me.   
    “I’m waiting.”  
    It’s always the same. What are you waiting for, little one? Why won’t you show yourself? I can’t help you unless you speak to me!   
  
October 9, 2003  
  
    Why did I wish for such a thing? Surely, I have doomed us all! They’re all gone now… I saw it, in the mirror. Not just a flash of white this time and now I know why one of us saw red and another white….  
    My fears have been confirmed, it is a child. I cannot discover the being’s gender since the child is so young, seven or eight, I think. The spirit wears a pure white, sleeveless kimono, but it is stained with bright red blood in some places and I can see why. It’s skin is snowy pale, but across that skin are huge cuts, forever bleeding, the being’s form terribly mutilated. There is a terrible bruise on its neck, its hair hiding its face. There is a small bell on a red ribbon tied to the ghost’s tiny ankle. But, the child is not alone. A few nights ago I saw another, dressed and looking the same, but older, about the age of a teenager. This ghost has huge… specters… protruding from the back, like terrible parasites, distorted, contorted, screaming horrors. We saw it in the mirrors, ALL of the mirrors, even in the reflection of our cameras. It reached for me inside of the mirror and I ran, my fear overpowering my actions. As bad I feel for the spirit, I AM afraid of it. But, tonight, something horrible happened. I saw the spirit again, but it was not inside of the mirror, it was here, walking among us! It walks on bare feet, but it is real, the floor creaking under the weight, like a living person, but when its bare skin touched the wood, it rotted, like death as a form of real energy! I was right!   
    But, that all means nothing now. Cuts have started to form on our bodies. They itch and hurt so badly, bleeding profusely. Every day that passes, more and more appear, even though we stay wide awake in fear of what will happen.   
We found an underground passageway under a broken tatami mat in the blood-stained room. It was a stone staircase leading down into the dark, supported by old wooden beams that looked like they would break at any minute. We found the door and I am sure that the room behind was the place of the mirror ritual, but we could not figure out the stone lock. Even J could not solve the puzzle and we gave up on it. I know now that that… child… is responsible for my friends’ deaths. That’s right, they are all dead and I am alone in this awful place.   
    O was the first to leave. He was so very sick. He had stopped eating and his body was just wasting away in front of my eyes, only, it happened in only a few days, which is, of course, impossible. He choked on his own blood, dying in his sleep. We put his body in the closet, unable to look at it. J finally conceded that we should leave the mansion, but to our utter shock, none of the doors would open. We are trapped here. So close to the mountains, our cell phones are useless. There is no way out.   
J died shortly after O. After looking after the equipment and discovering that they have not recorded anything, he claims that all of this is a hoax, even O’s death. He became obsessed with finding the thing in the mirror. He told me that he saw the child and then the teenager. After he saw that, he was never the same. He went… mad. I think that he realized the truth, that there was no way out and that we were all going to die in here. I found his body in the long hallway of ropes, hanging there. I think that he couldn’t take the fear anymore and killed himself. Will the same happen to the rest of us? Or at least, that is what I had thought then, but now I know that losing my sanity is the least of my worries.   
    S once spoke to me how the mansion spoke at night and how the walls have started to rot. I told him that it was the spirit, but he is unsure of that. He has walked the mansion many times over and, before he died, he was convinced that the spirits and energies of this place were affecting metals and woods and even plants. We kept J’s body in the hallway, hanging. I didn’t see the point in taking him down, just to stash him in a closet, at least he is safe there. I found S there, next to J’s body. He had taken down one of the ropes and was… bleeding on it. When I had demanded what he was doing, he told me that the ropes were soaking up his blood, like the feeding of a living organism. I watched in horror as he cut up his arm and the blood dripped onto the old rope, then… disappeared, like it had indeed been drunk by something. He continued to make cuts, enthralled with the sight of his bright red blood feeding into the ropes. I dragged him back to our room, but I was inattentive. He escaped me and returned to the hallway, slicing open his flesh and feeding the ropes until there was nothing left to bleed. When I found him, it was in bits and pieces. A foot and arm and head here and there, tangled in individual ropes like toy doll in a spider’s web. I could not bear to untangle him.  
    I returned to our room to find that, not only was H missing, but O’s body as well. I do not know why I thought to do so, but I began running to that hallway and I could only stare in complete horror at the sight of my friends, all of them, dead and hanging there. H was there, too, his eyes still bleeding, but quite dead, as if he had had some sort of aneurism. I have gone mad… haven’t I, my friends? I’m sure that I am insane…   
*****  
    I am sitting in front of the mirror in our room again. I couldn’t bare to be in that horrible hallway with my dead friends. What is happening here? Did that child really do this? I am waiting for that child. It will come for me tonight, I am sure. Come for me little one… I cannot take the darkness anymore. I cannot take the voices. I cannot take the loneliness… I am waiting…  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It came.   
  
End Prelude  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Prologue: Hide and Seek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two young girls go into the mansion and play hide and seek only to meet one of the mansion's many spirits.

Prologue: Hide and Seek

_It… hurts. It hurts so… much… the blood… darkness… you… betrayed me… Why..? You’ll know my pain… you’ll all know it… the world will hurt… You’ll all hurt…_   
_Please… I’m so scared… the dark… the Darkness… I know I must finish this… I’m so scared… I don’t want to kill… I’m waiting for you… It… hurts… mother… father… why? You said that you loved me, you said we would be together forever… you were supposed to love me… protect me… but it hurts now._

July 3, 1975  
“You can’t catch me!” Midii cried cheerfully as she ran away from her best friend through the village.  
“Midii, wait up!” Catherine cried, her smaller form racing to catch up and failing. People watched the two young children run, smiling at the fun of youth. Catherine loved her friend very much, but sometimes she wasn’t very considerate. The sun was starting to set and Catherine knew that her mother was going to worry about her, but she didn’t want to go just yet.   
Catherine Bloom and her mother, Ally Boom, were in Japan visiting old friends of theirs, the Une’s. They had all met in Germany, but Midii’s father had moved to Japan for business and Catherine never saw her anymore. They only got to see each other one a year during the summer and, while Japan was fun, Catherine still missed her very much. She didn’t want to leave tomorrow morning. Though they lived continents away, Midii was still her best friend and she hated saying goodbye. So, when Midii had suggested they go exploring up the forest path, Catherine, against her better judgment, had said yes. That was the way that their relationship had always been, Midii would get her to do stupid, dangerous things even when Catherine knew better. Her mother said that the blonde girl was a bad influence, but for Catherine, she was the only ‘real’ friend that she had.   
The two girls ran up the lengthy forest path, stopping to gawk at a large owl that was sitting in one of the trees. Suddenly, as they reached the top of the winding road, Catherine stopped and Midii crashed into her back.  
“What’s wrong?” she demanded excitedly. Ever since coming to this tiny town, she yearned for adventure. Why couldn’t they have moved to some place more exciting like Tokyo? Instead she was stuck here where nothing happened and the only things she had to look forward to were the yearly visits from Catherine.   
Catherine only gaped as she saw the huge mansion in the distance. Midii followed her gaze and grinned. She took off running towards it.  
“Midii, what are you doing?!” Catherine called, running after her.   
“Exploring, dummy!” Midii yelled. The girls ran up the rest of the way until they were standing in front of a huge gate that was open just enough for them to slip through. The two of them stared up at the ancient mansion with wide eyes.   
“Whoa,” Midii murmured. Catherine just nodded, her brown her bobbing around her head.   
“It’s beautiful,” she said in a soft voice. It was quiet around the mansion, all forest sounds had died and they couldn’t even hear the wind. Midii couldn’t believe her eyes. She had lived in this town for two years and had thought that she had seen everything, but this was just… incredible.  
“We have to go back,” Catherine said in a panic, “my mom’s probably worried about me…”  
“Oh, come on, Cat, we have to go exploring!” Midii insisted, “When are we going to get the chance again and there’s probably some neat stuff in there! It’d be soooo cool to play hide and seek!”  
Catherine bit her lip. The huge house, dark and mysterious, scared her, but at the same time, a small part of her did want to explore the place. No one seemed to live there and it would just be for a little while, right? She nodded.  
“Alright, but just for a few hours, ok?”  
Midii grinned and grabbed her friend’s arm, dragging her to the door which was, oddly, unlocked.   
“This place is awesome,” Midii breathed as they walked through the hallway of rooms. Catherine hid behind her, worried that the old house might drop something on their heads or that bats would come flying out of nowhere. There seemed to be hundreds of rooms in this hallway alone and she was scared that they would get lost. One thing she would never get used to in Japan were the sliding doors that were everywhere in this house. They were cool, but a little bit strange.   
“Why doesn’t anyone live here anymore?” she wondered out loud. Midii shrugged.  
“It looks expensive,” she pointed out. Catherine screamed as Midii suddenly smacked her arm.  
“You seek, I’ll hide!” Midii cried.  
“No!” Catherine protested, scared of being left alone in this huge, and very creepy, place. “What if we get lost?!”  
Midii didn’t hear her, already running down the hall. Catherine sighed and pressed her forehead against the wall. She started to count.  
“1, 2, 3, 4, 5…”  
*****  
Midii ran through hallway after hallway, taking random turns, but was careful to only stay on the first floor. After a few minutes had passed, she finally, quietly, opened one of the guest room’s sliding door, wondering at how the door didn’t stick, despite its age. Even the guest room was large, huge tatami mats making up the floor. There was a coffee table that was low to the ground and a wooden barred window in one corner of the room that moonlight was leaking through, helping her see in the darkness. She headed for the closet and opened the sliding door. Japanese closets were different than German ones, she thought. There were shelves instead of hangers and she climbed up on the shelf, which was only as high as her chest anyway. She closed the door behind her, but left it open just a crack. She would never admit it to Catherine, but she was scared of the dark. However, that fear was kind of exciting, too, so she didn’t mind the dark as long as she could see that sliver of moonlight on the floor.  
Midii stifled a sneeze. This place probably hadn’t been dusted for centuries, she thought, and was immediately nervous of spiders in the small closet. She rested her back against the closet wall and waited. She imagined what it would be like, to be trapped in this closet and how horrible that would be. Stuck in the dark, unable to see if anything was next to you. She shook her head. Stuff like that only happened in horror movies, not real life. Besides, Catherine was here and if she did get stuck, her friend could just get help. The minutes ticked by in the darkness and fear started to eat away at her courage. She scratched at a cut on her arm, which was starting to bleed. She didn’t remember how she got it, but it must have been when she had climbed into the closet. It itched and hurt badly, but she had scraped her knees more than once and ignored the pain. The old house made odd noises, creaking and whistling, and logically, she knew that a place this big and this old would sound strange, but she didn’t like it. She was starting to think that maybe this idea of hers hadn’t been so great when, finally, she heard the bedroom door slide open.  
Midii breathed a sigh of relief. At least Catherine hadn’t gotten lost. For a moment, she felt panicked. What if it wasn’t Catherine, what if it was something horrible? But, the footsteps walking into the room were small and light, those of a child, and she relaxed. She remembered that she was supposed to not want Catherine to find her, but she still hoped that she would. She heard the footsteps and the creak of the tatami getting closer to her, but she couldn’t see who it was yet as they were in the shadows. Midii smirked. She was surprised that Catherine hadn’t immediately run towards the moonlight. The girl could be such a scaredy cat sometimes. Midii felt herself relax fully as she saw brown hair in the moonlight and young girl approached the closet. She smiled, knowing the game was up, but still stayed silent, wanting to win the game. She frowned when the closet door was opened.  
“Alright, you caught me-,”  
Midii screamed.   
End Prologue


	3. Chapter 1: Tag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sally goes to the mansion to mourn the death of her daughter and instead meets a young spirit who entices her to play a game of Demon Tag.
> 
> Heero, Quatre, Trowa, Wufei, Relena, and Zechs enter the mansion for a school project and end up meeting a vicious, but haunting spirit that won't let them leave. While his friends are terrified of their host, Heero can't help but feeling some strange connection to the house and it's resident.

Chapter 1: Tag  
August 3, 1997

 _“Mommy, we’ll always be together, won’t we?”_  
 _“Of course, baby.”_  
 _“*cough cough* even when I get really old?”_  
 _“… Yes… even when you get old.”_  
 _“Mommy, I’m tired.”_  
 _“Go to sleep, love… just… go to sleep.”_  
*****  
“We’ve arrived, ma’am.”  
The voice of the taxi driver jostled Sally out of her dream. She gasped, sitting up straight, her golden pig tails bouncing against her shoulder. The driver watched her warily, his eyes moving over her Chinese features, but she was used to such treatment, especially here in Japan, in a small town that was just as distrustful of her as she was of him. She looked out the window to the fading light as the sun had started to set. Nasue was a small town and was beautiful in the summer, the cherry trees somehow still blooming despite the heat. She wiped the sweat from her bang-less brow. The air in the cab was broken, but she was used to the summer heat in Japan. She smiled softly as she saw the forest path that the cab had parked near. This was not her first time in Nasue and she knew that no taxi would dare to drive up that path. The old path was filled with obstacles that would be foolish to face in a car and there were the old legends. Even as the world slowly approached the millennium, superstition as old as the creation of the wheel remained. Even the most rational person would hesitate to go up that path, but Sally wasn’t here for ration. With light fingers, she caressed the urn in her arms, held tightly against any bumps and jarring as though her life depended on it.  
Sally Po had been born and raised in China, but once upon a time, she had fallen in love with a Japanese man named Iso Takuma. He had been the first Japanese person she had come in contact with that had not treated her, or any other Chinese person, with distain and distrust. They had started as friends and had ended as husband and wife. Takuma was from Hijiko, a town near Nasue and, on their wedding night, he had brought her to this little town, up to the old, gorgeous mansion that had been up the road. No one came up to the old mansion, he had assured her, and it would be the perfect place to take the first step of their marriage. They had not ventured into the mansion, because, surely, a house that old had to be a death trap, but they had settled for a spot under the ancient cherry tree in the front garden. The entire area had been protected by a huge gate, keeping them hidden. In the past, Sally would have explored the old house, but with their new future on the horizon, she didn’t dare. That night, they had made love under that old tree and two weeks later, Sally had discovered that she was pregnant.   
“Thank you,” she said in a soft voice to the driver, paying him and getting out of the car. The man looked relieved to be leaving the area and sped off. Sally cradled the urn tightly in her arms and took a deep breath, starting up the long path. It was going to be a long evening.   
*****  
Their lives had been perfect, but five years after their marriage, Takuma and Sally’s daughter, Min, had died from lung cancer. It had been a horrible affair that had seemed endless, at the same time that it had been far too short. They had tried to make it work, but after three months of listening to Takuma’s excuses for wanting another child and her screaming at him that she didn’t want another, not now, not ever, they had separated. It seemed so quick, after a six year marriage, but she couldn’t take it anymore. So, she had taken the nine hour drive from Tokyo to Nasue with her daughter’s ashes and the bottle of wine they had had at their wedding in order to go to the place that she had conceived the best thing that had ever happened to her.   
_“We’ll always be together, won’t we?”_   
Sally smiled and tightened her grip on the urn. They would always be together, just like she had promised.  
*****  
The old house was just like she remembered it. The cherry tree was still standing, blooming soft pink petals that blew in the wind. The huge gate doors were open, just like they had been five years ago. She slipped between them and walked to the tree. Near the tree was an elegant stone garden that was in complete disrepair. It made her feel sad. At one point in time, so long ago that no man on this planet remembered it, that garden had been beautiful and perfect, but now the rocks had been flung and scattered by time and the elements. It made her want to try to rebuild it, but she lacked the skill. She caressed the tree with her fingers and pressed her forehead against it. The smell of the cherry blossoms was intoxicating and she closed her eyes.   
The single, beautifully sad jingling of a bell filled the silent evening and Sally’s pale blue eyes shot open. She looked around the garden, her vision skimming over the windows of the mansion, but she could see nothing that would cause the noise. She shook her head and sat down under the tree. She closed her eyes and tried to remember what things had been like five years ago. It had been just a little bit cooler, but everything looked the same. In a place like this, time had stopped, and that was just fine with her. She placed her daughter’s ashes at the base of the tree and poured the whine into the soil. She lay back against the tree’s thick trunk and closed her eyes. She could hear the thick melody of the cicada as the sun set and darkness fell over the yard. Sally sighed and looked up at the house. All those years ago, she had passed up the chance to go inside because she had had a future, but there was nothing stopping her now. She fished a flashlight out her purse and left her spot by the tree.  
*****  
Sally had thought for sure that the door to the huge mansion would be locked. She imagined that, in one point in time, wealthy families had lived there, so there were probably some valuables still inside, but when she tried the door, it opened with only a sharp creaking. As she walked inside, the floorboards creaked under her shoes and her flashlight made arches of light on the old walls. She walked up the steps into the main hallway and gasped. Her flashlight was useless with the huge, maze like hallways and high ceilings. The place looked even bigger on the inside than did on the outside and she felt tiny and insignificant in the face of all of it. She walked through hallway after hallway until she saw a door that was open just a crack and decided to start her exploring here. When she opened the door and went inside, her flashlight moving across the tatami and sliding closets, she gasped again, her hand flying to her mouth. She had heard stories about this place, about how people would come inside and disappear, as though they were spirited away by ghosts. It was not a splatter of blood or ghostly hand prints that had shocked her.  
The room was obviously a play room. There were boxes of old toys, things from so long ago, long before gameboys and computers. There was a bright red ball in the corner of the room, big enough for a child to hold it in both hands. There was a koto in another corner, covered in dust while the ball, oddly, had none, and some of the strings were broken with age. There were pieces of paper covered in old drawings, obviously made by a small child, maybe five or six, but the paper was so old it was dark brown and curling. Tears started to run down her cheeks. If she stood there long enough, she could see the children in this room, playing together and laughing. She walked over to the red ball and picked it up. It was perfect, not a single knick or scratch on its surface and it looked brand new. She rolled it around in her hands. It was a very old fashioned sort of toy. Nowadays, kids complained if they didn’t get the newest toys, but her baby had never complained. She would have loved a pretty ball like this.   
Sally heard the jingle of a single bell behind her and whirled, the ball tucked against her chest and she swung her flashlight around wildly in the pitch darkness, but couldn’t find the source of the lonely sound. She sighed, shaking her head and turned back around. The beam of her flashlight suddenly landed on the face of a child and she screamed, dropping the light. The flashlight clanged on the ground, but the light didn’t go out. Sally watched in terror as small, pale feet, one of them with a bell and red ribbon tied to the ankle, took a few steps closer to her in the light.  
Sally dove for the flashlight and managed to grab it, but when she shone it on the spot where the child had been, there was nothing. She swirled again and in the light of the flashlight, she saw the child looking up at her with violet eyes that seemed to glow like a cat’s. She took a stumbling step back. The child was about seven with a beautiful, ethereal face. Long, cinnamon bangs almost completely covered the eyes. The child was wearing, oddly, a sleeveless white kimono. Sally had never heard of a child nowadays wearing a kimono or yukata unless there was a festival. She, or he, though Sally believed that it was a boy, not a girl, had on an obi the color of his eyes, but it was apparent to her why the boy was here and why he could disappear and reappear as she saw thick stains of blood across the pure white fabric and huge, gaping, bloody cuts crossed over his arms and hands, and on his neck was a horrible bruise. Bile rose in her throat. She wanted to run. A ghost… that was what she was looking at… but it was also a child. She looked at his wounds. Who would do that to a little boy? She denied her desire to run and took a step closer to the boy, who had yet to speak or disappear, he only stared at her.  
“W-what do you want, honey?” she asked, kneeling down a little to keep from scaring him, ignoring the fact that it was she that was scared. The boy pointed at the ball she was holding.  
“This? Is it yours?” she asked, holding out the red ball. The child nodded enthusiastically and she smiled at him. She handed it to him and the ghost took it, hugging it to his body like a cherished pet.   
“Who did this to you?” she whispered, horrified as she realized that the mark on his neck was from a rope, “who hurt you?”   
The boy’s violet eyes stared into hers and she shuddered. There was something in those eyes, something that she couldn’t place. It was fear, darkness, something insane, yet he wasn’t insane… he was looking at her like any child would, eager and curious.   
“ _Play with me_ ,” the child said, its voice echoing off the walls, distorted like a warped record.   
_“Mommy, play with me!”_   
“What would you like to play?”  
The boy smiled, but there something else behind that smile, something she couldn’t understand, and ran out of the room, fading away as he reached the door.  
“Wait!” she cried, “I want to help you!”  
How many years had this child been here, waiting for some affection, some kind hand? Who had hurt him? What possible reason could someone have to hurt a baby like that?   
Suddenly, the ceiling creaked as someone small ran on the second floor. She realized it quickly, it was tag, but not just any tag. Japanese children had a game called ‘Demon Tag’ and her own daughter had played it as well. The person ‘it’ was the Demon and would chase the other children. If one of them was caught by the Demon, they were considered ‘dead’ and were brought to a designated place, usually a tree or large rock, that was labeled ‘hell’ and that person would have to stay there for the rest of the game. She had played it with her daughter many times and now, she smiled.  
“Alright, little one, I’ll play.”  
*****  
Sally ran up the stairs after the child, tracing her steps until she was directly above the play room. She found herself in a large library, but after checking the entire place, she couldn’t find the child. She opened the closet and searched inside. Instead of finding the boy, she found that the back wall was loose and pulled it aside, finding a passage to the next room and crawled through. It was another part of the library, but the boy wasn’t in here, either. She tried the door, but it was locked and she realized that she had to go back out through the closet to get back to the hallway. As she turned, she heard the door behind her slide open and she whirled, seeing the brief image of the boy beyond the door before he vanished again and she took off running. She heard his footsteps below her and she made for the stairs again, having trouble finding them in the mixture of dark and confusion of the winding hallways.   
Sally followed the sounds of running footsteps until it led her to a long hallway and she could hear them no more. She ran through it, her flashlight wavering crazily, throwing long shadows against the walls. She cried out in shock as a long rope touched her shoulder. High pitched laughter filled the hallway like water into a glass and she looked up, her flashlight catching the image of the boy, sitting up in one of the beams, but the image quickly vanished and she heard the footsteps far away, almost as though it was coming from another world outside of the hallway. As she ran past the ropes to the end of the hall, she felt like she had come from one point in time and ended in another with the impossible length of the hallway. She followed the footsteps to another room and flung open the door, running inside.   
The room was enormous, the stairs around the square room leading up only two feet to the main part of the room, which she walked to, only to stop dead in her tracks as the flashlight illuminated the large space of tatami mats. The mats were stained with blood, not old blood, either. In the light, it was fresh and vivid.  
 _“Play with me.”_  
She took a step back. Demon tag…   
Horrible, insane laughter filled the room and she covered her ears to keep it out of her head. Small hands wrapped around her legs from behind her and she screamed as her flashlight dropped to the ground and went out.  
*****  
June 7, 2066  
 _“Please… I don’t want to die…”_  
 _Water surrounded him, weighing him down. The reflection of the rearview mirror burned into his eyes. He clawed at the broken window, slashing his arms and blood filled the freezing water._  
 _Blood… why was there so much blood, stop bleeding!_  
 _“Please don’t let them kill me!”_   
Heero awoke with the words from his dream echoing in his head and he struggled against the heavy blankets that were weighing him down, just like the water from the dream. He rolled onto his back and threw his arm over his eyes.  
 _“Please don’t let them kill me!”_   
He’d been having that part of the dream for years, but now it was encroaching on his other dreams, his other nightmares. Besides his dreams, he had slept deeply last night, for the first time in a long time. He looked blearily over at the clock and calendar at his bedside table. His uncle had opened the shades to his windows some time before leaving, probably in an attempt to get him to wake up earlier, not that it had done any good. For years now, Heero had spent most of his time sleeping, living in his dreams, though he could either never remember them, or he was too scared of them to think of them too much, but he liked dreaming. Sometimes he liked it better than being awake, but last night, he hadn’t dreamed very much, he had just… slept. That scared him, the loss of dreams, as though he was close to something. His friend, Quatre, would say that he was close to his soul being healed, but he didn’t believe in stuff like that. In the late morning light, Heero was able to see the day calendar. It said that it was the sixth, which meant that today was the seventh, since he hadn’t gotten around the tearing off yesterday’s page yet. He ripped the page off.  
“Fuck, June 7th,” he muttered and rolled out of bed. He hated summer, it was too damn hot in Nasue and he had too much time on his hands. Too much time to think. June 7th… today was the day. Exactly four months ago, his parents had died and left him with his uncle, Howard. The man was a bit eccentric, but kind and was doing the best he could with a guarded, closed off seventeen year old. Today was also the day that he and his friends were supposed to start working on their summer project. Every summer since he had started high school, he had had the same project: pick a historical event in Japanese history and report on it. This year, however, their old history teacher had retired and a man named Dekim from Europe had replaced him. Seeing Westerners in Japan nowadays wasn’t so rare as it had been and a lot of culture and ritual had been disbanded for modern thinking, but a lot of it also remained. So, when Sensei Dekim had told his students that on the summer before they became seniors, they were to go out and explore historical landmarks in Nasue, both Heero and his friends had been relieved. They still had to do research, but it wouldn’t be as stuffy and distant as researching things like World War II. Heero, for one, wasn’t looking forward to his senior year at all. He had lived his entire life in Nasue with his parents and didn’t want to leave. His life and everything he loved was in this town. His friends talked about how great the future was going to be, but all he heard was that he would no longer be able to see them and it would probably be only during the summer that he could come back home. His councilors were upset that he hadn’t chosen any colleges yet and his parents had fought with him about it constantly, but he still wasn’t ready to part with his home.   
Heero walked into the kitchen and put some toast in the toaster. He looked to the side and saw his parents’ picture staring at him. He put it faced down and looked away. It was so hard to imagine that they were gone. It was one of those things he had though would always be there. He felt so lonely and distant from everyone. He felt separate and strange, as though he didn’t belong in the world. Still, he loved his friends and if there was anyone in the world that he still felt connected to, it was them.   
*****  
Relena Darlian was an early riser, always had been, since she was a child. That trait had been instilled in her mother who had always tried to make her a ‘proper lady’. Relena wasn’t sure if her inability to sleep past eight made her a proper lady, but since she had so much to do today, it was definitely a good thing. The Darlian family had been an English family of nobility until her uncle had been involved with a scandal involving a prostitution ring and her father had made the decision to move out of Europe, away from the publicity, since he didn’t want his children to be marked by it. Relena had hated him for moving them all to Japan. It was a far cry to the prestige and class that she had been used to, but when she had met Heero Yuy and his friends, that had changed. She had fallen for the boy, hard, and had made quick friends. Her brother, Zechs, on the other hand, had always hated being in the spotlight and had flourished much quicker than she had. It was her brother who had introduced her to Heero and it was Zechs who had befriended him first. Zechs was two years older than her, but had settled for helping the family than going to college and Relena knew that he would help her and their friends out when they started to work on their project. So, when she had finally gotten an idea, she went running to him.   
“Zechs!” she called in perfect Japanese, though a little bit of her English accent broke through, “where are you?”  
She ran downstairs after looking in her brother’s room, which was neat, as always, but also homey. One thing that annoyed her about her brother, despite the fact that he had always been better liked by everyone, was that, even his Japanese was better than hers, he was capable of letting go of his English heritage and settle into their life. It had been six years since they had moved to Japan, but she hadn’t been able to give up where she had come from and that made her miserable at times.   
“Relena, stop shouting,” Zechs grumbled as she found him in the kitchen. He was sitting at the table reading the newspaper. Both of their parents were gone for the day and Zechs didn’t have to work, which meant he would probably spend the day reading and watching TV unless she made him do something. She grinned at him.  
“But I have great news!”   
Zechs rolled his light blue eyes.  
“Fine, ‘Lena, what is it?” he said patiently. It wasn’t often that his little sister was this enthusiastic.   
“I found where we should do our project!” she said, very proud, “Remember those stories dad used to tell us about the Matsuei Mansion?”  
Zechs’ eyes widened.  
“Relena, you can’t be serious, the Haunted Mansion? Isn’t that a bit… dangerous?” he asked. Relena snorted.  
“Oh, please, don’t tell me you actually believe all that!” she scoffed.   
“No, I’m not afraid of ghosts, I’m afraid of you or one of your friends falling through the floor and hurting yourselves in a place that has no cell service!” he pointed out. “I told you I’d help with your project, but even my phone doesn’t work up that path.”  
“But it’s the perfect place!” Relena protested, “If there’s any history in this stupid little town, it’s up there! We can do the research today at the library and spend the night there tomorrow. You know, exploring, maybe there will even be some artifacts in the house! It’ll be informative and fun!” she said excitedly, “Besides, I’m sure that Quatre’s father will give him his global phone and it’s not like we’re in space or anything. Even without a phone, one of us can just run back into town to get help.”  
Zechs sighed.  
“Fine, I do admit that it sounds more interesting than the harbor or monument. I’ll call Trowa, Quatre, and Wufei. Knowing Trowa and Quatre, they’re probably together at Trowa’s right now anyway,” Zechs said with a smirk. Relena frowned. She didn’t approve of homosexual relationships, but it wasn’t her business, so she tolerated her friends’ romance. They did make a cute couple, the petit blonde and the tall brunette, if only Quatre had been born a girl… Relena was immediately glad that Zechs had offered to talk to Wufei. They didn’t get along as well as she got along with the others. He hated how she acted around his best friend, Heero, and her feelings towards Quatre and Trowa, but they were still friends. Still, Relena hated talking to Wufei on the phone because he always talked flatly and she could never tell if he was making fun of her or not.   
“You can deal with Yuy, if he’s awake by now,” Zechs grumbled. He had made friends with Heero easily when they had first moved here. Heero’s parents’ bakery had been close to their house and he had been the first person that Zechs had talked to when they had arrived in Nasue. It had been hard the last few months dealing with Heero. After his parents’ deaths, he had become more withdrawn and despondent than ever, but Zechs was resolved to help him through it. He was glad to see that at least Heero’s sleeping habits hadn’t changed. Heero Yuy was the most straight laced, responsible person he had ever met, but had the habit of sleeping in as late as he could get away with. He picked up the phone and dialed Wufei’s number first.   
*****  
Chang Wufei limped towards the phone as it rang. He had moved to Nasue with his father four years ago because of a death in the family that had hit everyone hard. His father had wanted to put the past behind them, but even Wufei knew that you couldn’t bury the past, it was a part of who you were. His mother had wanted Wufei to go through therapy and stay in China, but his father had been adamant that a change of scenery would be better. Wufei had been dealing with his limp for only a year because of a car accident where he had received a concussion, three broken ribs, and broken leg that still plagued him now. His limp wasn’t too bad, but it did make it impossible for him to be an athlete, which suited him just fine. He preferred books to baseballs anyway. Today, his father was at the drug store where he worked and he had been spending his morning reading the paper. Though he lived in a small town, he liked to keep up with the rest of the world. Sometimes he wondered what his life would be like if he had staid in China. When he had first moved, he had hated his father for it. He wanted to stay with his family and work through their mutual grief, but now he didn’t mind it as much. Japan was still a strange place to him, but he had friends now and they made his life here worthwhile. The next year of school would be very important for all of them since they would be graduating and going to college soon. Wufei knew that he wanted to be a doctor, but not all of his friends were so sure. Relena was still indecisive, but wanted to go back to England for college and just decide as she went along. Zechs would continue to stay here and help his family. Quatre and Trowa were going to stay together, which Wufei envied them for at the same time that he was happy for them. They were the type of people that were born for each other. Looking at them, he couldn’t imagine them apart. They were going to attend the same college in America, much to Quatre’s father frustration. Quatre came from a family of oil tycoons and would be picking up after his father. His father knew of his son’s relationship with another boy and had, surprisingly, not cared. His only concern was continuing the family line and Quatre had so many sisters that it didn’t matter what Quatre did, though only a boy could continue the business. He managed to convince his father that he would go as planned after college, but for now he wanted to enjoy his independence for as long as he could. Trowa wanted to be a vet after living for so many years among circus animals as a child in France. Heero, on the other hand, had no such ambition. He hadn’t even chosen a school yet! Wufei couldn’t understand his best friend, he was so smart, but so connected to this tiny town for some reason. He shook his head and answered the phone.  
“Yeah?” he asked.  
“Wufei, Relena thinks she’s found a place for your project,” he heard Zechs say. Wufei raised one ebony eyebrow.  
“Really? Quatre will be glad to hear that. He’s been worrying about it since school ended.”  
“How about Matsuei Mansion?” Zechs asked. Wufei’s hand tightened on the phone.  
“Your sister wants us to go walking around a house that hasn’t been occupied in over two centuries?” Wufei looked down at his leg worriedly, “Zechs… you know I can’t walk up that path, it’s too long and too steep for me.”  
“Don’t worry. You and I will be taking my Jeep up there before the others and we won’t make you run around the house,” Zechs assured him, his voice soft.   
“Alright,” Wufei agreed, “it sounds interesting. I’m sure that there’s plenty of history in that place.”  
Zechs had to smile at the excitement in his friend’s voice. If there was one thing Wufei loved, it was history.   
“We’re going to go to the library at one today to do some research. I’ll pick you up, ok?”  
“No problem,” Wufei said and hung up.   
*****  
“Mm, Trowa, no,” Quatre moaned loudly as his lover sucked lightly on his pale neck. His hands gripped at Trowa’s strong shoulders as the green eyed boy nipped his fair skin. Trowa smirked against Quatre’s neck, loving the sound of the blonde’s moans.  
“You’re so cute,” Trowa murmured, rubbing his hand against the hardness in his lover’s slacks, making Quatre choke on his moan.   
“I love you so much.”  
Quatre widened his aqua blue eyes at the taller boy’s words.  
“Oh, Trowa,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around Trowa and kissing him sweetly.   
Quatre Winner and Trowa Barton had moved to Nasue ten years ago from the Middle East and France, respectively. They had met on the plane to Tokyo and had been best friends ever since. After the death of Trowa’s parents in the middle of a gang fight, Trowa’s uncle Trowa, whom he had been named after, had taken him to rural Japan for fresh mountain air and safety. Trowa didn’t remember too much about his parents and had settled in with his uncle fairly well. Quatre’s father had had a scare due to corporate espionage and worried that his only son would become a target for rival companies so had whisked the two of them off to Nasue as well. When they were thirteen, they discovered that they had a mutual attraction for each other and had been dating ever since.   
The two boys groaned in annoyance as the phone rang and Trowa quickly picked it up.  
“Hello? Yeah, this is Trowa. No, that sounds fine. We’ll meet you there in an hour, then. Bye, Zechs,” Trowa hung up.   
“What was that about?” Quatre asked, cocking his head to the side. Trowa ran a hand through his long, jagged bangs.   
“Apparently, we’re doing our school report on the Matsuei Mansion. Should be interesting. We have to meet them in the library in an hour,” Trowa told him. Quatre paled.  
“M-Matsuei Mansion?” Quatre stammered, terrified.  
For as long as Quatre could remember, he could see, hear, and feel things that other people couldn’t. His father didn’t believe him when he told him that he could see spirits and auras until his mother had died. He had told his father that there was a dark shadow following her and he was sure that she was going to die. The next day, she was hit by a car. When he went to the cemetery for her funeral, he had been assaulted by so many things that he ended up in the hospital. He had been very careful since then to stay away from any places where people had died or were known to be haunted, places like Matsuei Mansion.   
“Trowa, I can’t go to that place!” Quatre protested. Trowa hugged him tightly.  
“Don’t worry, love, I’ll protect you,” Trowa said with a smile. Quatre couldn’t help but smile back. His lover knew all about his… abilities and had never teased him about them. He also felt safe from his visions when Trowa was around. He supposed that that was the power of love.  
“Now, where were we…”  
*****  
Relena sighed as her friends poured over old newspaper articles and folklorist notes. Heero was helping Quatre with the newspaper machine and didn’t seem to notice her sigh. He was so cute, she thought, those intense blue eyes, that thick, messy chocolate locks… but he was so aloof. They were friends, but it was like he didn’t even know that she was a woman.   
“Oh, that’s so sad,” Quatre murmured as he and Heero found another article on the mansion.  
“What is it?” Wufei asked, limping towards them.   
“So far we’ve found at least 143 recorded deaths,” Heero said. Quatre nodded.  
“I had no idea that this town had so many disappearances,” Wufei murmured, “but what is that one?” he pointed to one of the articles Heero had pulled up.  
“In 1982, a New Year’s party was thrown in the Matsuei Mansion. By morning, a fire had killed all twenty-six people. The origin of the fire was never discovered, but firefighters believed that a paper lantern caught fire. The flames were contained and never left the house and the house itself wasn’t damaged in any way. The fire burned so hot that the only remains of the twenty-six dead were dust and ashes,” Quatre read, feeling fear fill his heart. So many dead and in such horrible ways… one of the bodies found up on that path had been literally torn apart. Were they really thinking of going into that place?  
“That’s impossible,” Wufei said skeptically, “no fire that is that hot will leave a structure of wood untouched!”  
Heero shrugged.  
“That’s what the newspaper says.”  
Zechs collected the laminated newspapers and books they had found.  
“I’m going to ask the librarian to photocopy these. I think we have enough facts for your essays,” he said. Relena cheered.  
“Finally, the boring part is over!”  
Trowa rolls his eyes.  
“We still have to _write_ the report, you know,” he reminded her.  
“Oh, we can do that after we explore the place!” she brushed him off, “We should go up there first thing in the morning!”  
“I have to agree,” Quatre said, refusing to let his fear over his psychic abilities to destroy this for the rest of his friends, “we should go around seven. Trowa and I will get a phone from my father and food. Relena can collect flashlights. Wufei can take care of the first aid kit, just in case, and Heero can bring notepads for all of us and Zechs will get the house maps.”  
“Eleven,” Heero interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest. Quatre blinked at him and narrowed his eyes.  
“Heero…”  
“I’m not getting up at seven!”  
“Fine, eight, then!”  
“Ten!”  
“Nine!”  
“Fine,” Heero grumbled, ignoring Relena’s giggling. Trowa and Wufei watched this in amusement.   
“Are you done yet?” Trowa asked dryly. Heero glared at him.   
“Nine it is, then,” Quatre said with a grin. “I expect all of you to be on time!”   
The other four nodded at him as Zechs came back with the copies.  
*****  
Despite Heero grumblings, he showed up at the gate to the Matsuei Mansion promptly at nine, though his eyes were half lidded. Oddly, he hadn’t slept at all last night. He had stared up at the ceiling, unable to sleep. There was a fine fog as Relena, Trowa, Quatre, and Heero walked up the forest path together. They continuously heard the incessant hooting of an owl in the thick settling of trees. However, by the time they had reached the top of the path and saw the house looming darkly in their sights, the day had turned hot and the fog had lifted. Quatre and Relena gasped as they saw the house.  
“It’s huge!” Relena managed to choke out. Trowa nodded, but Heero could only stare. His heart pounded as he saw the mansion. It was so… beautiful. Old, but perfectly kept, at least on the outside. He could almost imagine the type of people that could have lived here so long ago.  
Zechs and Wufei were waiting for them as they slipped through the huge gate.  
“Oh, what pretty trees!” Relena exclaimed as she saw the front yard with its cherry trees and stone garden. Quatre nodded. He felt ok so far. Maybe Wufei was right and this whole thing was just ridiculous.   
“Have you gone inside yet?” Trowa asked Wufei who shook his head.   
“I hope the door’s open,” Quatre mentioned. The rest of them groaned.  
“I should have thought of that,” Zechs grumbled, helping hand out the supplies to each of them. Quatre felt a little bit of his fear ebb away when he held the flashlight in his hand.   
Zechs stared up at the house and shivered. He was the oldest and he knew that he had to take charge, but there was a part of him, deep down, that really didn’t want to open that door. He looked around at the others and found that fear in their eyes, too. It was stupid, they didn’t believe in ghosts, at least Zechs, Relena, and Wufei didn’t, but there was still that fear of the unknown. They all watched in shock as Heero stepped forward and opened the door.  
*****  
Heero wasn’t sure why he did it. He was just as scared of the house, but there was a deep, dark part of himself that wanted to go inside very badly.   
“It’s so cold,” Relena murmured as she entered, “It’s so… scary.”  
Quatre shivered. It had been so hot outside, but in here, it was cool. He stepped into the main hallway and his heart immediately started to pound. His whole body clenched, telling him to flee, to run before it was too late, but he couldn’t move, he was paralyzed on the spot. There was something horribly wrong, every sense he had, both normal and supernatural, was telling him that this place was wrong down to the planks of wood they walked on. He shivered again, harshly and his eyes clouded over as he stared into the shadows, a scream on his tongue, his eyes seeing, yet not really seeing. Trowa saw his lover pause while their friends continued into the house and start to shake.  
“Quatre, what’s wrong?” he whispered, putting a hand on the blonde’s arm and his vision faded to black.   
*****  
Trowa’s vision came back to him. He and Quatre were standing in a long hallway with long ropes hanging from the rafters. Quatre bumped into him as he backed away and Trowa saw why. A beautiful young boy with long chestnut hair was hanging in front of them, one of the ropes around his neck, blood dripping down his feet and hands, pattering lightly on the floor. The vision wavered, like a broken TV set and Trowa almost fell back as a shard of mirror collided with the floor in front of him. The vision of the hanging boy wavered in and out with another of a small boy, also with long brown hair, almost completely covered in blood, laughing so insanely that Trowa felt like screaming. He covered his hands as the laughter seared into his brain.  
‘Stop it, stop it, stop laughing!’ he screamed in his head.   
Quatre panted, tears streaming down his cheeks as he saw the boy, too, with hundreds of bodies at his feet.  
“No…” he whispered. The boy stopped laughing and stared at him, his eyes cold and glowing and quite insane. Trowa grabbed at Quatre’s hand as the vision seemed to crack and half and they were seeing the blood soaked boy at the same time as they saw the older boy that had been hanging in the hallway, but he was alive now, kneeling on the floor in front of them, wearing the white, blood soaked kimono that the other visions had had. The boy was sobbing, his body shaking with his agony and Quatre could see horrible slashes on his arms.  
 _“Please… come for me… don’t leave me alone again! It’s so dark…”_  
*****  
Quatre and Trowa gasped as one as they were suddenly thrown out of the vision by an invisible force, still holding each other’s hand tightly. Relena looked back at them with an odd expression.  
“What’s wrong?” Zechs asked. Quatre shook his head, but he was pale enough that he looked like a ghost himself.   
“N-no, we’re fine,” he insisted and the others continued into the maze of hallways. Trowa looked at his lover in concern.  
“Quatre… what was that?”  
“I’m so sorry,” Quatre cried quietly, “you shouldn’t have seen that, I’m so sorry.”  
Trowa smiled at him and hugged him tightly.  
“It’s ok. You shouldn’t be here.”  
Quatre smiled back.  
“No, it’s alright. It was just a vision… it wasn’t… real. I just have to keep my cool,” he assured Trowa. The two of them followed their friends, but their minds were elsewhere.  
*****  
Heero put a hand on Relena’s shoulder as she shivered again, though he couldn’t tell if it was in fear or the cold.  
“It’s just a little dark and we brought jackets if it gets too cold,” Heero tried to comfort her, but he wasn’t used to it and felt useless trying to do it. She smiled at him brightly anyway and tried to hold his hand, but he continued into the house. The group flicked on their flashlights and walked into the first hallway.   
“It’s so beautiful,” Heero whispered, not realizing that he had spoken out loud and put a hand on the wall. The house was old, but felt a bit comforting to him. It was still creepy, the little creaks and groans and the way that the shadows seemed to move on their own, but it was the sort of place that should have been preserved by the town’s historical society, not left to grow old and die up on a hill somewhere. The hallways here were like literal mazes with so many guest rooms that it would have been impossible without the house plans for them to navigate. Past at least five of these rooms was an open door and on the plans it said that it was a play room. Heero felt an almost magnetic pull to the room and Relena followed closely behind her as he opened the shoji door.   
*****  
Heero froze as he entered the room, wrapping his arms around himself and shivering, but couldn’t feel Relena shivering behind him. It was so cold in here and he felt an intense shudder travel down his spine. Why was he so cold? Heero smiled as Relena placed a warm hand on his shoulder and he placed his hand over hers.   
“I’m fine,” he assured her.  
Relena didn’t seem to hear him as she walked past him into the room. Heero’s eyes widened and the color drained from his face. The hand under his was small, soft, and slender, but his fingers could feel imperfections on the skin, like scars. He whirled, hearing the sweet, beautiful chime of a bell, but there was nothing behind him. He stood there, shaken to the core, panting, as the others caught up with them.  
“What’s wrong, Heero?” Quatre asked, half suspicious, half concerned.  
“It’s nothing,” the Japanese boy brushed it off and followed Relena into the room. He was just tired and creeped out by the old place. That was no reason to go off the deep end. In the darkness, his flashlight hit on a bright red ball amongst the other toys in the room and his gut clenched for some reason.   
“For a playroom, it sure is creepy in here,” Zechs muttered, “who has the map anyway?”  
“I do,” Heero said, handing it over to Zechs. Relena bent down at one of the toy chests and rummaged through it, piling dolls and puzzles on the floor.  
“Relena, don’t touch that!” Heero snarled at her. Relena stared at him with wide eyes, deeply hurt.  
“Heero, who cares?”  
“I do,” he snapped, “show some respect.”  
Relena abandoned the box, giving Heero a seething look. Zechs raised an eyebrow at him.  
“You know, Heero’s right. We’re not here to rummage, we’re here to get a feel for this place. Just because no one lives here anymore doesn’t mean we can just go through people’s past personal effects. Now, there’s some places we should definitely check out. There’s this really long stretch of hallway called the ‘Hanging Hallway’.”  
Quatre and Trowa shared a look and tightened their grips on each other’s hands.  
“According to the map, it’s over a mile long,” Zechs continued, “It wasn’t even on the plans until the notes of a professor were found in 2003 in which he talked about the hallway and drew where it was in the house. There’s the courtyard, though there’s not much out there but the old well and some flowers. There’s the Leisure Room where the Matsuei family used to celebrate all sorts of occasions, that was where that New Year’s party was held, too. It’s also the biggest single room in the house. There’s the main family bedroom’s on the second floor and a workshop on this floor.”  
“This place is so cool,” Relena said, “Let’s go to the workshop!”  
As the group left the playroom, Heero looked back at the red ball, sitting lonely in a corner and rubbed at the place where the hand had touched him.   
*****  
“One of the Matsuei men who lived here made dolls for the children,” Zechs informed them as they walked through the hallway.  
“I know it’s a bit obvious, but this place is really, really creepy,” Relena said, looking around at every shadowed corner in the hallway and wincing at the creaking floorboards, “I mean, why hasn’t anyone filmed a horror movie in here or something?”  
Wufei rolled his eyes behind her, his game leg making the floorboards creak even louder. Quatre gasped as their flashlights caught onto a gaping hole in the side wall next to the door to the workshop that allowed them to see into the room. The posts that had supported the wall were curled outward like claws and the hole looked like something of tremendous force had blown out of the room.   
“Did a bomb go off in here or something?” Trowa wondered out loud.  
“No,” Zechs said, his eyes narrowing in confusion, “there isn’t any explosive force in the entire world that can bend posts like that.”   
Relena searched her brother’s face as Wufei furiously scribbled in his notebook. She felt uneasy looking at the hole. According to Zechs, it shouldn’t exist and that bothered her. They walked past the hole and pushed open the door.   
There were shards of the workshop bench were all over the room and there were several dismembered dolls strewn about in the corners, but the most gruesome were the red and black haired dolls that were hanging by ropes around their necks from the ceiling.   
“That’s horrible,” Relena whispered.  
“They’re just dolls,” Wufei snorted and the blonde girl glared at him.   
“It’s grotesque!”  
Heero stared at the hanging dolls and felt an intense pain stab in his head. He rubbed at the scars on his wrists and started to back out of the room. This place… it was wrong. He didn’t need to see ghosts to feel that. He left his friends in the room and opened the door to the adjacent guest room. He couldn’t stay in the workshop. Relena was right, it was grotesque, this whole place was grotesque. Hundreds of people had died here! He kept the shoji door open so he could keep an eye on his friends. The worst thing he could think of happening was being alone in this place. The guest room was very plane and reminded Heero of his own room. There was a sliding closet, an old, moth eaten futon, a low table, and some bookshelves. Near the closet was a body length mirror. Oddly, none of the mirrors in this place had a speck of dust on them. He walked towards the closet and opened it. He sighed. It was empty, not that he would suspect anything different. He loved this old house. It was beautiful, though a bit big and lonely. It was one of the reasons why he never wanted to move away from Nasue, there were just so many good things here. Even though the house made him feel wrong, he loved it anyway. As he closed the closet, he caught movement in the corner of his eye and turned towards the mirror.   
His flashlight flickered as it tried, feebly, to get a read on what his own eyes were seeing. On the other side of the mirror was the most beautiful boy Heero had ever seen. His long, chestnut hair was wrapped in a braid that was draped over his thin shoulder. The boy was wearing a bloodstained kimono and, Heero mentally winced, his snowy skin was slashed open on his arms. His violet eyes stared at Heero and the Japanese boy felt tears forming in his own at the darkness, loneliness, and anguish he saw there. He ached to touch him at the same time that it felt like his soul was ripping apart. The boy’s mouth moved, but he couldn’t make out the words.  
“Who are you?” he murmured. The boy touched the glass of the mirror, his fingers pressed against it. Heero smiled at him, his heart pounding with the need to touch that slender hand. He followed the boy’s move, placing his fingertips over the other boy’s, the thin glass the only thing separating the two of them.   
Heero cried out as the mirror cracked, slicing his hand open. Blood splattered onto the floor and when he looked back at the mirror, the boy was gone.   
*****  
As Zechs and Relena explored the workshop, Quatre watched as Heero reappeared, looking pale and shaken. He gave him a searing look. Something was going on with his friend, more than the cold and the creepiness of the house, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. Heero was usually so composed to the point of being stoic, but as soon as he had come here, he had been acting strange.   
Relena grabbed Heero’s hand and dragged him out of the workshop, but continued to be despondent, his mind a mile away. Heero didn’t believe in ghosts, even as a child. He had always been a practical person, so why had he seen it? He hadn’t wanted to, and yet… that boy… he looked so sad, Heero wanted to help him. He stared at the slash on the palm of his hand. The wound was nothing compared to what that boy had had on his skin, but it stung and felt heavy, as though it was infected with something dark and horrible. Was it possible that he had done it to himself? Still, despite that he wanted to pretend that it hadn’t been real, he couldn’t. That boy had been as real as the wood under his feet. He fingered the cut, feeling blood soak his fingertips. The pain was comforting for some reason.  
Relena smiled in the dark, Heero hand wonderfully warm in hers. In the past, she had done everything except for jumping in bed with him to get him to notice her, but she felt like a ghost beside him, unnoticed, invisible, less than living. She had never given up hope, but it was hard. Heero was just so aloof and in the years that she had known him, he had never shown an interest in anyone, girl or boy. Sometimes she wondered if he was simply asexual, but it was nice to hold hands with him like this, even if he didn’t see anything romantic behind it.   
*****  
Quatre clenched at his chest as they walked down the hallway, fear and chill gripping at his heart. The air was so heavy, it was hard to breathe. Long, whitish arms reached for them out of the walls, hundreds of arms… he shivered. They had been following them down the hallway since they had left the workshop. There were huge soot marks on the walls. As they walked, the soot grew and grew in size, taking the forms of what looked like people’s shadows. The soot moved on the walls like something alive, bulging out of the wall. He cried out as the soot forms reared from the wall to try to grab at him, but they were tethered by long trails of soot to the wall, even as they struggled to free themselves from the wall. He squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, all of his friends were looking at him with concern.   
“There’s something bad here,” he told them, “I can _feel_ it. We shouldn’t be here!”   
Relena sighed.  
“Not that psychic mumbo jumbo again, Quatre!” she scolded, “There’s no such thing as ghosts or bad omens, I mean, no one else has seen anything, have they?”  
Heero looked away, paling a little. Quatre caught his look.   
“I believe him,” Trowa said, giving Quatre’s arm a little squeeze.  
“For once I’ll have to agree with Relena,” Wufei said, “There’s nothing here but cobwebs and dust.”  
Quatre ignored them. The soot ghosts weren’t going away. His ability showed him the wavering phantoms of people scrubbing at the marks on the walls over and over, but the soot wouldn’t go away. The soot would swallow up anything that got too close, but for now, they stayed rooted. He knew, somehow, that they were the ghosts of the victims of the people from the fire and also realized that this wasn’t just a vision because both the arms and the soot didn’t go away, even when he closed and reopened his eyes.   
Relena gasped as they entered the Leisure Room. It was a huge room with a few stairs leading up to the tatami floor. She could imagine an elegant party in this room, but as they walked up the stairs, her delighted gasp turned to one of shock as they saw the thick blood stains on the tatami. Quatre and Heero quickly left, Trowa following them. Quatre hung his head as they left the room.  
“This place _is_ wrong,” Heero said, “but that’s why it’s important to do research here, to find out its history, but if it bothers you that much…”  
Quatre shook his head.  
“I know that history is important, not just for our grades, either, and this is a part of the town, and what I’ve been seeing are probably just echoes, but I can’t help but feel scared.”  
Relena, Wufei, and Zechs looked concerned as they followed the other three.  
“Even if you’re scared, these things happened in the past,” Wufei assured Quatre, “they can’t hurt you now.”   
“I keep seeing strange and terrible things in this house,” Quatre murmured, giving Heero a searching look, “you have, too.”  
Heero’s eyes widened and he looked away. Relena laughed.  
“I know you’re superstitious, Quatre, and reading all those stories about this place couldn’t have helped, but Heero isn’t like that. People disappear all the time, especially in the woods, it doesn’t mean anything.”  
“I did see something,” Heero interrupted, looking at Quatre, “a boy in a mirror wearing a white kimono, stained with blood.”  
Trowa and Quatre looked at each other in alarm.  
“We saw the same thing.”  
Wufei frowned.  
“Well, we haven’t seen anything,” he looked at Zechs and Relena for confirmation and they nodded. “Isn’t possible that you’re just mistaken.”  
Heero showed them his still bleeding hand.  
“Oh, Heero!” Relena cried, rummaging in her bag for the first aid kit, “Why didn’t you tell us you had hurt yourself?”  
“I didn’t hurt myself!” Heero snapped, annoyed with her tone, “I touched the mirror and it cracked! Yes, people disappear all the time, but not hundreds of people in one area,” he pointed out. Wufei sighed.  
“Ok, I can accept Quatre seeing dead people, but Heero? We’ve all seen Quatre in his ‘fits’ but Heero doesn’t have a psychic bone in his body!”   
“What about the accident?” Trowa asked.   
“That has nothing to do with anything,” he said defensively.   
“Wait, that is true, you almost died,” Zechs said, “if it hadn’t been for that broken window, you would have died. You almost died anyway because of the water in your lungs.”  
Heero glared at him.  
“So my father drove the car into a pond. They died, I didn’t, give it a rest!”  
“But that may explain why you’re seeing things,” Quatre tried to explain, “you told me that you felt alone in the hospital, dealing with their death and knowing that you could have joined them.  
“I felt lonely before their deaths,” Heero admitted in a soft voice, “I’ve felt lonely my entire life.”   
“Oh, Heero,” Relena murmured softly.   
“It doesn’t matter what I see or if this place is haunted. We have a report to write, unless anyone wants to leave and do it on something else?” Heero offered, even as, deep inside, he didn’t want to leave. At the very least, he wanted to learn the ghost’s name. He didn’t like the feeling of being haunted.   
“Of course we’re not going to leave,” Relena said, “Ghosts are exciting! Still, I don’t believe in them and you’re not helping by feeding into Quatre’s delusions.”  
Heero ignored her. He didn’t believe that Quatre was delusional, he never had, but he still didn’t want to believe that he had seen a spirit.   
“Alright, stop bickering,” Zechs ordered, “It’s almost lunch time. Let’s head to the second floor and pick out guest rooms for ourselves. We can have something to eat and check out the rooms up there and settle in for tonight to go over what we’ve found. Personally, I’m interested in the Hanging Hallway. We’ll check that out and the courtyard tomorrow,” he said, ever the voice of reason. Quatre shrugged. The last thing he wanted to do was spend the night in this place, but Heero was right. He had known the risks of settling for this place. He knew that he could just leave and do his report elsewhere, but that would just make him feel miserable anyway. Still, he grabbed onto Trowa’s sleeve as they walked down the hallway, the image of the blood stained tatami and the child standing in the middle of the room laughing insanely that had been there for only a second, was seared in his mind.  
*****  
They all looked at the old stairs with worry. It didn’t look sturdy at all and the last thing they wanted was for someone to fall through them and break a leg. Relena and Wufei fought about who should test the stairs and if they should draw straws, but Zechs decided that, as the heaviest, he should try to see if the stairs were strong enough to support all of them. Everyone held their breath as the longhaired man took his first step on the stair. The wood creaked and a small layer of dust drifted down, but the wood didn’t waver or splinter and they breathed in relief. Quatre was relieved to find that the walls on the second floor didn’t have anything on or coming out of them and felt his headache start to ease off. According to the house plans, the rooms on the second floor belonged to the higher levels of the Matsuei family, the Master, his wife or mistress, his siblings, and their children. In the long, main hallway, they spotted a door that was different than the others, the wood a deep red instead of a dark brown, and they went inside.   
Heero immediately felt ill, heavy and pained, when he entered, though he couldn’t figure out why. The room was bigger than the guest rooms downstairs and there wasn’t anything unusual about it with one exception: every room they had gone into, and every hallway, had had a mirror, except for this one. There wasn’t even a small hand mirror. The room seemed to be frozen in time. The futon looked slept in, as though someone had left in a hurry and hadn’t bothered to fix it, chopsticks had been strewn hastily, and the closet was wide open, the sheets and kimonos also tossed around.   
“How pretty!” Relena exclaimed, spotting a paper lantern by the futon that had little butterflies cut out of it. There was a large window with wooden bars horizontal and vertical that let the sun shine into the room, so they turned off their flashlights. Zechs picked up one of the kimonos on the floor and Heero froze when he saw that it was pure white, violet obis intermingled with the kimonos.   
“Looks like it was meant to fit a boy,” Zechs said, looking at Heero, but Heero refused to rise to the bait. He opened one of the jewelry boxes on top of the cabinet near the closet. There were no rings, just silken red ribbons that had probably been used as hair ties. In the top drawer were several journals that were too old to read except for one name: Matsuei Duo. He looked over at the white kimonos.   
‘Is that your name?’ he wondered. Somehow, it seemed right.  
“Is this his room?” Quatre murmured.   
“Hey, check this out,” Wufei called from the other side of the room. He was kneeling in front of a long stretch of wooden lattice that only rose a few feet off the floor. Relena made a disgusted face as he discovered that he could slide it open as a door and shone his flashlight into the dark crawlspace.  
“I am _not_ going in there!” she pouted.  
“Oh, come on, ‘Lena, live a little!” her brother teased and he leaned down next to Wufei. “It looks like there’s some stairs here.”   
“A secret passageway?” Quatre said excitedly. Despite his fear, the small child inside of him poked his head out at the thought of secret rooms and tunnels.   
“There’s probably spiders and rats in there!” Relena protested.   
“I’ll go first,” Trowa offered.  
“Are you sure?” Quatre asked, worried for his lover’s safety. Trowa nodded.  
“I’m not afraid of rats,” the tall boy said with a smile. The lattice made a loud creaking noise as the pulled it back the rest of the way and Trowa slipped inside, the rest of them following with Relena hesitantly at the back.   
The inside of the wall wasn’t much to write home about, just a long stairwell that led to a small door, something that was more suited to a ten year old than an adult and the five seventeen year olds and nineteen year old would have to bend down to get through it.   
“Is this supposed to be an attic?” Trowa wondered as he started up the steps.   
“But the door is so small…” Relena mentioned, “Oh! Maybe it’s a special playroom!”  
“I doubt it,” Zechs said, “those kimonos weren’t for a kid. I don’t think that this place has anything to do with the room it’s connected to. It could be an attic.”  
The small door had a heavy padlock on it, but it had rusted all the way through and Trowa managed to open the door easily, but struggled to get his tall form through.   
“Fuck,” Quatre heard Trowa say before he ducked to enter the room.   
*****  
The room was small and gruesome. Inside of the room was a box shaped area that was cornered off by thick wood that crisscrossed, creating a small prison.   
“It’s a cell,” Zechs noted somberly. Quatre covered his mouth with a hand as he saw the small door to the cell.   
“That’s horrible,” Relena murmured, “the newspaper didn’t say anything about a prison.”  
Heero approached the cell door with a heavy heart. His muscles ached, but he leaned down to try the lock anyway and found that this lock had rusted through also.  
“It’s for a child, not a criminal,” Heero said. Relena looked at him with wide, horrified eyes.  
“That’s not possible, Heero!”  
Heero opened the small door and kneeled inside.  
“Then why are there toys and why is the door so small?”   
The others followed him and saw that he was right, the room had dolls and teddy bears and books for children. It would have looked like a proper play room if it weren’t for the bars surrounding them and the pair of manacles locked onto the floor by thick chains.   
“This is sick,” Quatre whispered. Heero picked up a worn journal on the low table in the middle of the room. It was in slightly better shape than the other one he had found and he was able to make out a few things: the name ‘Matsuei Duo’ and the last few lines, some in between too blurry for him to read.  
 _“It is so lonely here. I can hear the wind moving downstairs. It will not even reach me. I am truly alone…_  
 _… I know that it is inevitable, but I am afraid to die.”_   
Heero felt bile rise in his throat at the thought of the ghost he had seen living up here, the thought of those thick, iron manacles around his thin, pale ankles. He closed the book and put it back, not wanting the others to read the words. He felt that it was too personal and felt weird that he had read them. His heart was pounding too fast and he felt on the verge of a panic attack. He had never felt like this before, even with the news that his parents had died in the accident, leaving him all alone.  
“His name is Duo,” he announced to the room, “I know that much.”  
Relena and Wufei gave him searching looks, but Quatre nodded and Trowa and Zechs seemed to accept this.   
“Did he live here?” Quatre wondered, “In this cell?” he shuddered as the image of the hanging boy came back to him.   
“I don’t know,” Heero confessed, “I don’t think so. I think he lived downstairs, but at some point, I think he came here.”   
Zechs sighed heavily. This was more than he could hope for, a house with a very dark history, but he didn’t really want it like this. He didn’t blame Quatre and Heero for scaring so easily, ghosts or not, just standing in this room, he could imagine hearing voices as well.   
“Let’s get out of here,” he prodded.   
*****  
The group of six picked out one of the large rooms to work and sleep in and settled in for lunch. Trowa had brought sandwiches and bentos and two large thermoses of green tea and iced coffee with several bottles of water in a cooler. Zechs and Heero were unbearable without coffee and Wufei and Quatre refused to drink anything but water or tea. Relena made a small derisive comment about there not being any Darjeeling, but she let it go and settled for water. She was especially excited about visiting the Master’s bedroom. She talked about all through lunch about how opulent and beautiful it would be, but became quickly disappointed to find that it was locked and they couldn’t get the door open. They backtracked to the other rooms they had visited and wrote notes about anything they found interesting before conjoining back into ‘their’ room for the night. They had quickly discovered that no one had installed up to date bathrooms. There were no showers, no toilets, but there were some ways of bathing and ‘going to the bathroom’, though nothing from this century. Relena immediately had the desire to take a shower after the long hike up the forest path and all the dusty things they had been touching and weighed going two days without washing with taking an archaic bath, but her hatred of filth won out and she excused herself with the small tube of travel shampoo she had brought with her.   
As they looked over their notes and talked about everything they had seen, Quatre absently scratched at his shoulder while Wufei squirmed uncomfortable from, what everyone assumed was from his leg. Heero felt bad about having him go up two flights of stairs with his game leg. The boys all flinched as one as they heard Relena scream.  
“Relena!” Zechs jumped to his feet, ready to save his sister, but she beat him to the punch, running into the room dressed in clean clothes, but she was soaked, her hair still having soap in it.  
“What is this?!” she cried, showing them a gash on her arm. Despite the fact that it was slowly bleeding, it wasn’t very deep and mostly just burned and itched, but it was startling on her fair skin. Zechs touched her arm, examining the wound. Quatre watched all of this with wide, fearful eyes.  
“How did this happen?” Zechs demanded.   
“I don’t know,” Relena whispered, “I mean, I’ve been scratching on it for a few minutes now, but I didn’t notice it until I got into the shower!”  
With a shaky hand Quatre drew his t-shirt over his shoulder and Relena gasped as she saw a similar gash on his shoulder.  
“T-that’s not possible!” she cried.  
“It started a little while ago, it just itched, then it started to burn and ache,” Quatre said in a shocked voice, poking at the bleeding wound. The others looked at each other and started to search. Wufei found a gash on his leg, Zechs on his collarbone, and Trowa on the top of his foot. The only one that hadn’t found anything was Heero.   
“What is going on?” Quatre said to himself as Trowa double checked Heero’s back. They whirled around to face Relena as she screamed again.  
It was Duo, only, it wasn’t Duo. He wasn’t in a mirror, but standing in the middle of them, like he was one of them, just… standing there.   
“Duo…” Heero murmured and the specter looked at him with empty violet eyes. Relena couldn’t stop screaming, seeing the ghost’s mutilated body. Heero’s eyes were solely focused on the… things… coming out of the boy’s back, writhing, horrible things, slithering over the boy’s form, screaming and laughing in a silent symphony that tried to drive them all mad. The boy’s eyes were so empty, yet… there was some sort of darkness in them. The ghost looked over at Relena, whose screams had petered off into shocked gasps.  
“No… you’re not… real… you’re not!” she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks. The ghost smiled at her, but there was nothing good in the smile and they all felt a terrible shudder go down them, wanting to run. Then, the image was gone.  
“Was that what you saw?” Zechs asked Heero, staring at the spot where the boy had stood, the wood there terribly rotted. Heero shook his head.  
“No,” he whispered, “this is something different.”  
Suddenly, horrible, insane laughter filled the room and they covered there ears as it rolled around in their minds. Downstairs, the front door and huge front gate slammed closed.   
End Chapter 1  
Well, that was much longer than intended. Sooo, Duo’s the ghost, but is he really dead? Why is he dead if he is and why does he sometimes appear as something evil or a child? Why is Fatal Frame 2 so damn depressing? Ok, the first questions will be answered, but not the last one, because, only those who have played that game will understand it. Nyu.   
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 2: The Feeding Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris elopes with her lover, Ralph, and finds the perfect place to hide from her controlling father, but will their love survive the night in the Matsuei Mansion?
> 
> Heero and his friends quickly discover that they are trapped in more than just the mansion. Stuck in a night that will never end, they are each given a nightmare. Heero is shown a glimpse of Duo's past while the others dream of their possible, or perhaps inevitable, fates.

Beyond the Looking Glass  
Chapter 2: The Feeding Place  
April 3, 1992  
‘Love really can conquer anything,’ Chris thought to herself as she and her lover, no, scratch that, _husband_ walked through the small village of Nasue. That word, ‘husband’, made her feel giddy, lightheaded as though she was up someplace high. She had always been a dreamer, even after childhood had faded into the jaded years of high school. Unlike other children her age, Chris had never played with others. Her days had been spent on porches, simply staring out into the sky and imagining that she was somewhere else, some place fanciful. But, at the same time that she was a dreamer, she had also always been very pessimistic. She had always seen her dreams as just that, things that were beautiful and wonderful but would never happen, so she quickly gave up on ever achieving them, but that had ended when she had met Ralph.  
Chris was what was popularly called an ‘army brat’. Her father was General Septum, a stern man that had only ever followed the rules and expected everyone else to do the same. She had lived in a strict household, constantly moving from country to country, never staying at one place for more than a few months, and when her mother had died of breast cancer, her father had gone from simply strict to overbearing and protective. No matter what she did, it was never good enough. She had dreamed of running away, but it was one of those things that she knew she would never do. She had made excuses for herself her entire life, that she had nowhere to go, that she wasn’t strong enough, but it was simply because she didn’t have the willpower. Then, when her father’s job had moved them to Tokyo, she had met a man named Ralph Kurt. While her father was away at the base, which was more often than not, she would wander the city. She knew that it was stupid, an European girl like her walking around a crowded Japanese city where anything could happen to her and she would have no one to turn to, but the bright lights and exotic stores enticed her. One day, she had been out walking, like she always did, and had come across a small café. Ralph had been sitting at the outside tables, despite the fact that it was winter, bundled in a heavy coat, drinking a steaming cup of coffee. It was such an odd thing to do when there were warm tables inside that she had to stop and stare. He had smiled at her and told her what a ‘wonderful’ day it was. She had laughed at the sight of his breath visible in the chilly air and had sat down with him. After that, every day she had joined him for a cup of coffee outside, even when it was raining, and they would talk about themselves. Ralph wasn’t wealthy at all, he was simple painter trying to make it by in Japan. He loved to paint the mountains and scenic Shinto shrines of the country side that only Japan could provide. He was the sort of man that her father would hate, she had thought back then, free, without any boundaries or rules, only living hand to mouth. She wasn’t quite sure if it was the feeling of freedom in disobeying her father or if it was Ralph’s lifestyle that had appealed to her the most, but she had fallen hard for the man. A year had passed, the longest stretch of time Chris had ever stayed in one place and she was glad for it, and she and Ralph had continued to date, kissing and holding hands mostly since they both agreed that they didn’t want to rush things and if they did have sex, it would be on their wedding night. Three weeks ago, her father had caught them on his way home, past that café and had realized what was going on between them. On the same night that her father had forbidden her to see Ralph ever again, her lover had proposed to her. So, three weeks later, they had eloped, running to the remote town of Nasue.   
Never in Chris’ life had she disobeyed her father and never had she thought that her dreams would be possible, yet both seemed so easy by her love’s side. Her hand felt warm in his larger one as they walked. Last night they had spent the evening the hotel making love. Chris had been a virgin and unbelievably scared, but now she looked upon those moments fondly, glad that she had been able to give herself to the only man she had ever loved. The diamond ring, not expensive, but undeniably beautiful, seemed to burn on her finger, not so much as an accusation, rather like a reminder that she had finally escaped, that for the first time in her life, she had made a decision because she had wanted it, not someone else. They didn’t have much money, but that would be ok. For once, she had hopes and dreams that she could actually see coming true and she wouldn’t let something like money change that. However, money would help since they no longer had enough to get another hotel room. Ralph planned on spending what they had left to paint and sell in town so they needed to find free shelter. Something like that wasn’t easy. People seemed to smile down at them for being young newlyweds, but as soon as they asked for a place to stay, those smiles would disappear. However, one little girl had told them that there was an old house up an old forest road at the edge town that had been abandoned for years, but that the door was said to never be locked.   
Ralph’s hand tightened on her own as they approached the long, winding path in the deep woods. The child’s story seemed far fetched, but Chris also had no doubt that her father would be looking for them and with his connections, it would be easy for him to trail them. Going to a hotel was probably dangerous. She had no idea what her father would do if he ever caught up with them. He had been so furious when he had found out that she was dating without his say so, and to a painter of all things… Braving a long forest road and an old house seemed so little compared to dealing with his fury. After all of this time, she was still terrified of her father and she felt like that wasn’t going to change. The path was more scenic than she had thought and she felt herself relax as they walked together, hand in hand. The pine trees that filled the area smelled wonderful and there were several flowers growing because of the warm, spring air. It was actually quite romantic, even as the sun was setting and she knew that soon they would submerged in darkness with only a battery-powered lantern to help them see.   
“It’s so beautiful,” she murmured. Ralph nodded in agreement, smiling at her. Her heart blossomed with love at the expression and she found that she had to kiss him. She didn’t care what her father did to them, she would never be apart from Ralph, no matter what.   
*****  
Chris had traveled all over the world and her father was moderately wealthy, but she had never seen a home like she the one she was staring up at now. It was so huge and massive looking that she had a hard time believing that it was a house and not a hotel. The gate looked like it would take at least ten men to open, but fortunately, it was open just enough for people to go through one by one. The beauty of the forest path was nothing compared to the garden outside of the house, the cherry tree was in full bloom and the rock garden was lovely, though unkempt. Still, the house looked lonely with her knowing that there was no one to live in it. Ralph didn’t let go of her hand as he tried the door and they both relaxed when it opened with only slight creak.   
It was pitch black inside and Ralph quickly worked the crank on the lantern to light it up. Its light wasn’t sufficient to see much, so the two of them stumbled up the steps into the main hallway and felt at the walls until they found an open door to a guest room. The faint light of the lantern bounced off the walls, making the long hallways and nooks and crannies hard to discern, but the lantern was helpful in the smaller guest room. Chris wondered if they would be able to see the house in the morning when the sun rose. She saw with some relief that there was a futon in the corner and, when Ralph opened the closet, there were some old, dusty, moth eaten sheets inside. The holes in the sheets were tiny, so they were still usable, but the part of her that was used to getting the best scoffed at them, but the logical part of her realized that this was the best they could get right now and old sheets were better than no sheets at all.   
“We’ll spend the night here,” Ralph told her as he helped her lay down on the old futon, “and go back to town in the morning.”  
Chris nodded, snuggling against her husband. The house was old and there were sharp creaking noises going on upstairs that scared her. She was tired from running around all day and hungry, but Ralph’s arms were strong around her and she focused on that. She just wished that she could stop the terrible, gnawing hunger and her irritation at Ralph for not being able to do better than old, musty house in the woods as though they were a couple of hermits. Ralph turned off the lantern and the room filled with oppressing darkness. There was a loud creak above their heads and Chris tensed, but her exhaustion allowed her to fall into a fitful sleep filled with terrible, anxious dreams.  
*****  
Chris woke only a few hours later to find that Ralph was no longer in bed with her. She panicked for a minute, after all, how would she survive on her own? But, she discovered that it was no longer pitch black, because Ralph had turned the lantern back on. She sat up quickly and saw him rooting around in their packs for something, muttering under his breath.  
“Where is it?” he was saying in a tight, low voice. Chris’ heart pounded as his brown eyes fell on her.  
“Where is it?” he said louder.  
“What?” she asked, confused.   
“My wallet,” he said sharply, “I can’t find it anywhere.”  
Her heart beat increased even more. They needed that money to live and Ralph had lost it? Some deep part of her wanted to ask what had woken him up and why he had thought to look for his wallet.  
“I don’t know, when did you have it last?”   
Ralph gave her an intense look.  
“I had it when I went to bed and now it’s gone,” he snapped. Chris narrowed her eyes at him.  
“Are you suggesting that I took it? Why on Earth would I steal your wallet?”  
“I don’t know,” he growled and she could see the anxiety and tension in his eyes, “Maybe you’d thought that you’d use it to by yourself some goddamn coffee or a piece of cake! You never think ahead like I do! Fuck it, Chris, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times, we can’t spend that money on food or we’ll have no money afterwards. I don’t have any rich daddies to pay the bill for me! When will you ever grow up?”   
Chris stood up, her anger and irritation mounting.  
“Fuck you, Ralph! If you had any intelligence in that brain of yours, we wouldn’t be in this situation! You’re married now, why don’t you buckle down and get a real job!” she screeched. Ralph growled at her again and she froze. What were they doing? Why did she feel so… angry, so dark inside? It felt like the shadows around the room were choking them, hiding the feelings they had for each other and bringing out their irritation two fold. Ralph paused as well and he ran a shaky hand through his messy hair.   
“I’m sorry,” he said in a small voice, “I didn’t mean to snap like that, it’s just that we do really need that money and I know I had it before I went to bed.”  
“Maybe there’s someone else in the house with us,” she offered, remember the creaking. She could tell by the incredulous look in his eye that he didn’t believe that for a second, but he was too scared of yelling at her again. The two of them sat back down on the futon and he turned off the lantern.  
“We just need some sleep, that’s all. Everything will be fine in the morning,” Ralph said, but when Chris realized that he was talking to himself and not her, his words brought her no comfort.   
*****  
Chris’ watch told her that it was nine in the morning when she woke up again, but there was no sun peaking through the window of the room. Sometime during the night, the moon had broken through the clouds and the room was illuminated with it, making the lantern unnecessary. She stared at her watch again. It had to be broken. There were more shadows now, lurching and terrible and they made her feel ill. This wasn’t fair, she thought to herself, she should be in her warm bed with a full stomach, but because of her husband’s foolishness, she would probably be hungry for the rest of her life. She didn’t deserve this. She loved him, but she could easily admit that this was all his fault. He was supposed to take care of her!   
Ralph was sleeping on his side next to her, his back to hers and he felt like a mile away as his arms were wrapped tightly around himself. Chris tried to figure out why it was still dark, why the moon was so bright if it was supposed to be morning. How long had they been in this house? Twelve hours? A day?   
‘We’re trapped,’ a voice told her, deep within her mind and she tried to block it out. That wasn’t true, her watch was just broken, that was all. Sure, she had had it for ten years and it had never failed her, but things broke.   
“We’re trapped,” Ralph echoed her thoughts.  
“What do you mean?” she asked, rolling over to look at his strong back, but he still wouldn’t face her. Instead, he was looking at the window, at the moonlit sky.   
“I went back to the front door while you were sleeping,” he said and she instantly felt betrayed. Why had he left her alone in this place? Was he trying to run away from her, from his responsibility? That seemed so like him, not wanting to brought down by a mere woman… She felt hate for him for the first time in their relationship. He had left her alone, in the dark, had taken the lamp, their only source of light, to leave.   
“The door was locked,” Ralph said sharply, “we’re stuck here unless someone finds us.”  
Chris felt a giddy sort of pleasure knowing that his plan had been thwarted, but also a sharp sense of fear knowing that they were trapped in the house with no food or water.   
“That’s impossible,” she pointed out, “It wasn’t locked when we came in.”  
“God, don’t you listen to anyone?!” he snapped, glaring at her, “the door is locked, end of story!”  
Chris glared back at him. How long had he been awake, thinking about running away, she wondered? They lapsed into silence, staring off in opposite directions, without the will to talk to one another.  
*****  
How long had they been here? Chris’ watch told her that it had been two days, but it felt longer. The sun didn’t rise, the moon was constant, along with the shadows and the darkness. She felt so hollow, her lips dry and her stomach empty. She wanted something to fill her, anything at all… She realized that they should walk around the house, try to find another way out, but she found that she didn’t care. This sort of terrible apathy had filled her and she could only care about her hunger. Ralph refused to speak to her and she didn’t feel the urge to do so, either. She felt alone in the house, the two of them secretly hating each other, blaming each other, for what, she wasn’t sure. It was Ralph’s fault they were trapped. It was her fault for the missing money. It was his fault they had no food. It was her fault that they couldn’t talk things out. They had stopped fighting a long time ago, simply staring at the walls of the room, at the lingering shadows and the moon that never left the sky. She was so tired… she just wanted this all to stop. There was some remaining spark inside of her of the love she felt for her husband, but the hunger was consuming her, little by little, like an endless thing. She would never get rid of it, she realized.   
‘You’re going to die in this place,’ that dark voice said, it’s whispering never ceasing, just like her hunger. She dimly realized that the cruel voice and her hunger were the same. When had things gone so bad? When they had entered the house? When they had come to this town? When they had met at that café? She couldn’t figure things out. Ralph watched her out of the corner of his eye, her rocking back and forth as she watched the moon. He stood, but she didn’t seem to notice until he was in front of her and suddenly grabbing her thin, white neck.  
“What… what are you doing?” she choked out, sharp fear, the first real emotion she had felt in days besides the hunger and anger, filled her and she thrashed.   
“I know what you’ve been doing, he told me,” Ralph growled, a crazy look in his eye. She realized that that look had been in his eye since he had realized that the wallet was missing, “that boy, he told me what you’ve been doing behind my back, you little slut! This was all a joke to you, wasn’t it?!”  
“Ra… lph… why?” she managed to string the words together, but they were promptly cut off as her husband tightened his grip and her gasps contained no air. Her struggles slowed until she fell into permanent darkness. Neither she nor Ralph saw the small child in the blood stained kimono watching the murderous act with a blank expression on his face.  
*****  
April 7th, 1992  
Septum looked up at the Matsuei Mansion with a dubious expression on his face. He had been looking for his runaway daughter and her bastard of a lover for almost a week now and it appeared that he was finally closing on their trail. He couldn’t believe that Chris had done this to him. He had thought that she was a good girl, a little bit of an airhead, yes, but she was also, usually, obedient, just like how he had raised her. Things had been hard for him after the death of her mother, but he had persevered and he had thought that he had succeeded in raising a perfect daughter, but it looked like he had failed and if there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was failure. All he wanted was to bring his daughter back home with him and teach her some respect, he didn’t care what happened with that lowlife she had claimed to fallen for. Still, though a child in the small town had told him a ‘pretty blonde girl with blue eyes with a scruffy looking man’ had come up to this house, he didn’t believe that his little girl, who had always feared the dark, would go into this place. But, the gate was open and when he tried the front door, it was unlocked, so he went inside.   
*****  
The second that Septum went inside of the house, he knew that something was wrong. Besides that, he wasn’t looking forward to searching for his wayward child. The house was huge and there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to the hallways. He saw no indication that anyone had been there in the last two hundred years. Everything was covered with dust and the floorboards creaked under his weight. However, as he walked up the steps and started along the hallway, he heard whispering in one of the guest rooms. He couldn’t make out what the person was saying, all he knew was that _someone_ was here. He opened the door and went inside, but what he saw made him vomit onto the tatami. He hastily wiped his mouth, trying to compose himself, as he took in the scene. The sunlight streaming through the window didn’t leave a single inch to the imagination, making bile churn in his stomach.   
The ruffian and his daughter had been here, were still here, in fact. Ralph, that was what his name was, was sitting cross-legged on the floor. He looked horrible, his skin deathly pale, and thin, the bones of his arms jutting out against the skin. He looked like he would break in half with a single punch. There was a smear of brilliant red blood across his mouth that was so vivid against his snowy, bloodless skin that it made Septum want to throw up all over again. The man’s eyes were hollow, but he was still alive. His large hands stroked at Chris’ dismembered head, which he had cradled in his lap like a stuffed animal. Septum couldn’t see her face, but he recognized her short blonde hair easily. Her body had been shoved in the corner, the wood floor and wall stained deeply with her blood. Her body was starting to decay, but it was badly mutilated with huge chunks of flesh ripped out, bite marks covering her once perfect skin as tendons and flesh lay on the floor like a rabid animal had tried to tear her apart. That smear of red on Ralph’s mouth filled Septum with the most intense rage he had ever felt.  
“Hello, Septum,” Ralph said in a flat voice, his fingers stroking Chris’ shining blond hair, “Chris and I were just talking about you. She tells the best stories, but I’m sure that you already know that.”  
The rage crested, making Septum’s vision waver into a bright, horrible red. This… thing… had killed his daughter… had eaten her… how long had his daughter’s body been in this house, feeding this person that she had once loved?   
“You… monster!” Septum bellowed and flew at the other men, his fists raining down on him. Each crack and wet sound of his fists on Ralph’s fragile body made him feel so good… he couldn’t stop. The anger started to ebb away as he broke bones and flesh and brain matter flew onto the ground, the man’s body lying limp. When the anger was all gone, he looked at what he had done. Ralph was very much dead, having no strength left to defend himself, his rip cage and arms broken, his head caved in by the force of Septum’s blows. He felt no sorrow for what he had done. With a heavy, sickened heart, he approached the corpse of his daughter. He grimaced as he reached down and unlatched the delicate golden chain around her neck. Her mother had given her the necklace before she had died and he had no intention of leaving it in this place. He would go back into town, he decided. He would tell the truth with only a few white lies. This bastard had murdered and eaten his daughter and he, himself, had gone temporarily insane with grief. The boy was half dead anyway, he probably wouldn’t have lived for long. He had killed him out of mercy….  
His body shaking, Septum left the grisly scene in the guest room and went back to the front door, but when he tried to open it, it held fast.  
“What the hell?” he muttered and slammed at the door, trying to wedge it open, but it was locked fast.  
“That’s impossible!” he yelled and rammed into the door with his body, but the ancient wood, somehow, was stronger than he was. He was trapped. He screamed in an intense fury, falling onto his knees. He shook his head. He felt like he was going insane. There had to be another way out. A huge, old house like this… there had to be a garden, a courtyard, atrium… something leading outside! He stumbled back to his feet and started to run as fast as he could, as though he thought that by doing so, he could elude his own terrible thoughts and deeds. He found himself, somehow, in a long hallway filled with ropes that never seemed to end. He didn’t stop, though he was starting to feel out of breath. Would this house never end? He ran through hallway after hallway until he found himself on a porch leading outside into a huge courtyard. He stopped as he looked up at the sky, the wide open sky and saw the moon. He didn’t think about how he couldn’t have been running long enough for day to turn into night or how the moon couldn’t possibly be full when there had been a half moon out last night, he only laughed, almost insanely, as he saw that he was outside. Now, he just needed to get back into town.   
It was hard moving through the yard. The porch and most of the ground was covered in twisting, gnarled green vines that had tiny red flowers sprouting out of them. They were thin, but strong and he almost tripped several times. The courtyard was huge and beautiful, even the ancient stone well, but he had never cared much for beauty and simply tried to look for a way out of this horrible place. As he stumbled towards the well, he cried out when he felt something sharp graze the top of his head. He looked up and saw a large crow flying over head. It swooped low again and he ducked, his eyes following it as it flew over to a figure that was standing by the well, a figure that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. The person was dressed all in white, the space behind it seeming distorted, but Septum wrote it off as an illusion. He saw the person’s long brown hair and assumed it was a woman at first, but as he took a few steps forward, he realized that it was a boy. The crow landed softly on the boy’s shoulder and the apparition stroked its head fondly. He was beautiful, Septum realized, his skin pale and his oddly colored eyes piercing, but when he got closer, he saw the horrible wounds on its body and any cries for help were caught in his throat as he realized that no person could just be standing there with such wounds so nonchalantly, but his eyes still refused to believe what they were seeing as clear as day. Septum saw that the boy didn’t have just one crow, but dozens, surrounding him like loyal dogs around their master. His other hand had something clenched in it, probably food, as his other petted the bird on his shoulder.   
“P-please, help me,” Septum heard himself ask, even though he had no desire for the ghost’s assistance. A ghost… that was what this thing was, he was sure, even though a stubborn part of himself refused to believe it. The boy finally seemed to notice him, his strange eyes staring at him, and he smiled, but the expression only sent a violent tremor down Septum’s spine.  
“Hunger is such a terrible thing,” the ghost said, his voice echoing and distorted like through a radio and Septum realized, in fear, that it was partially due to the strangulation mark on his throat. His voice was so beautiful, but it was horrible, too.  
“Loneliness is the worst sort of hunger,” the boy continued, his voice turning sad and Septum could indeed hear the loneliness in it. He was not an affectionate person, but the tone of his voice tore through the older man and he wanted to help him somehow.   
“They’re starving, you know, my crows,” he stroked the bird’s ebony feathers and the other birds started to screech, as though in agreement.   
“They’ve been surviving off of the mere scraps I give them, but it’s not enough.”  
Septum took a terrified step back as the distortion behind the boy cleared into something that his eyes just couldn’t understand. Protruding from the boy’s back, like hundreds of hungry parasites, were ghosts, mutated, silently screaming, some laughing hysterically, some clearly not human. The only word that came to his mind at that moment was ‘evil.’   
The boy’s slender, pale hand unfurled and he saw what he was holding. It was his daughter’s finger. He didn’t know how he knew that, but the nail was well manicured and a beautiful diamond ring was on it, the bone jutting out of the mangled flesh.   
“No…” Septum cried, tears tracking down his cheeks, as the boy fed the crow on his shoulder the finger and the black bird grasped it in its sharp beak then swallowed it, ring and all, in one gulp. He whirled and started to run, but one of the vines tripped him and he fell to the ground, the vine twisting around his ankle like a live creature, and he couldn’t wrestle his foot free. He heard the rustle of fabric by his ear and saw white cloth out of the corner of his eye as the ghost was suddenly right next to him, kneeling by his side.   
“But the dead are the hungriest of all,” he heard a whisper and saw two pairs of feet directly in front of him. He looked up sharply and saw Ralph and Chris standing there, her head somehow reattached, their bodies mangled and limbs dangling like broken marionettes. Their jaws were gaping wide and he could see their teeth and the hunger in their skinny, emaciated bodies. As hundreds of crows descended onto the terrified man, the once silent air of the courtyard was filled with Septum’s screams.  
*****  
June 8th, 2066  
Relena, Zechs, Wufei, Trowa, Quatre, and Heero all covered their ears as the laughter pieced through their minds in mad harmony, but through the laughter, they all heard, and felt, the suddenly loud crashing noise that shook the floor under the feet.  
“What was that?” Relena asked, her eyes wide with fear, not wanting to know the answer to that question at all. This wasn’t real… it was just an old house and she was just dreaming, that was it… Zechs’ own eyes widened in realization of what was happening.  
“Downstairs, now!” he barked as he ran out of the room, the teenagers following him downstairs, through the long winding hallways. It seemed to take forever to get to the front door and Relena felt like screaming again when Zechs tried to open it, only to find it locked fast.   
“No!” she cried, but saw that it was useless when her brother slammed his body against the old door, only to have it not budge an inch, as though it were made of metal instead of ancient wood.  
“That’s impossible… there has to be a way out!” she shoved against the door, which she imagined was laughing at their pathetic attempts. Quatre walked shakily over to the window. Of course it was impossible, but he wasn’t surprised. What was he doing here? He could feel the shadows closing around them and knew that it had nothing to do with his sixth sense. Somehow, he knew what he would find when he looked out the window and that they were trapped, but the sight still terrified him.  
“We can never leave,” he murmured.  
“What is it?” Trowa asked as he stood by his lover’s side. He paled when he saw what Quatre was seeing.  
“No…” he whispered.   
“It doesn’t matter if we find a way out of this house,” Quatre told Relena who was looking progressively more and more shaky and out of control, “the gate is locked.”  
“That’s impossible!” she cried out in dismay again, pushing Quatre to the side so she could look out the small window. Her heart raced and clenched as she saw that the huge front gate was firmly closed.   
“Even if we get outside, it would take twice as many people just to wedge it open again,” Trowa pointed out, his voice oddly calm given the situation.  
“But it’s impossible!” Relena protested stubbornly as though she thought that her logic would open the gate again, “a simple gust of wind couldn’t have pushed it closed!”  
“It’s also impossible for an unlocked door to close and lock itself,” Zechs said in a low voice, looking at the door with an expression of betrayal.   
“You still don’t get it, do you?” Quatre said coldly to Relena, “The possible, the impossible, time, even life and death, none of those things mean anything in this place. You saw that ghost, just like the rest of us, you know this house’s history. Do you honestly think it was the wind that trapped us here?”   
“It doesn’t matter,” Zechs tried to stay positive, “Ghosts or no ghosts, we will get out of here, we just need to keep our heads on straight. Our parents know where we are, they’ll come looking for us by tonight, tomorrow morning at the very latest. We just need to stay alive until then.”   
“Why can’t we just burn the damn place down?” Relena asked, “We have candles and lighters, let’s just burn this fucking place to the ground!”   
Her friends stared at her, having never heard her swear before.   
“Forget it,” Wufei snorted, “What are you going to do if this works? Say by burning the house down, we get out, with is just as stupid as us trying to open that gate on our own, what are you going to tell the cops? The ghosts made you do it? Arson’s a crime, Relena.”  
“We’re not setting the house on fire!” Heero snarled, the thought of them destroying the house filled him with sickness and dull rage.   
“Heero, we’re a bit more concerned with staying alive than the beauty of this house! I’ll admit, I was skeptical about this place, but seeing is believing and I don’t think that we were all imagining what just happened. If we don’t get out of here, that… thing will never leave us alone!”   
“Burning the house down will probably never work anyway. We’re trapped and if we set this place on fire, we still won’t be able to get out and we’ll end up burning to death!” Zechs pointed out, amazed at his own sister’s stupidity.   
“But what if it’s like in horror movies? People burn down the haunted house, the ghosts go away, and all of the doors open!”  
“We’ll burn faster than the ghosts,” Trowa grumbled.  
“This isn’t the movies, Relena,” Zechs scolded, “What will you do if the doors don’t open once we start the fire? We’ll all be trapped in here and burn to death.”  
Relena bit her lip, realizing just how dangerous such a plan would be.   
“Why don’t we break the window?” she pointed the window they had been looking out of. It was just big enough and level enough for one of them to slip through and the only thing blocking their way were cross shaped, thin pieces of wood.   
“Stand back,” Trowa ordered as he grabbed onto the slender-looking wood and started to shake the bars violently. To their shock and dismay, it was the same as with the door, the wood looked old and feeble, but it didn’t move an inch. Quatre seemed to be the only one not surprised by this.  
“I told you,” he murmured, “it’s not going to let us go, especially not through something so obvious. This thing is more powerful than nature itself. It’s evil.”  
Trowa and Heero looked at Quatre in worry, but the others ignored him, not wanting to believe what he was saying.   
“It’s like that movie, Rose Red,” Relena said. They stared at her in confusion and she sighed.  
“Doesn’t anyone watch old movies anymore? This people are trapped in a haunted house and try to get out by breaking a glass window, but no matter what they throw at it, the glass won’t break,” she gave a seething look at Quatre, “They discover that the house is channeling a psychic girl’s powers and the only way to get out is to knock her out and run while she’s unconscious. Maybe that’s why this ghost is after us! It’s because of Quatre! I mean, he’s the one who was seeing things before the rest of us! All we have to do is knock him out and we can go home!” she reasoned excitedly. Trowa stood in front of his lover.  
“You’re not doing a fucking thing to him! If you want to knock him out and leave him alone here, that’s murder and you’ll have to knock me out, too!” Trowa growled at her.  
“We’re not knocking anyone out!” Zechs snapped, glaring at his sister. He knew that she was afraid and she reacted badly to fear, but he still couldn’t believe how selfish she was being.   
“I was seeing things at the same time as Quatre,” Heero pointed out, “If you really think that our visions are causing this ghost’s hostility, you’ll have to leave me here, too.”  
Relena instantly deflated. She decided that she could live without Quatre or Trowa, but there was no way she was going to leave Heero in this place.  
“Ok, so, we can’t go out through the windows or the front door, but what about the Courtyard? Maybe there’s a way out through there or maybe the ghosts are only in the house? Maybe once we get outside, they won’t bother us,” Zechs moved along, not wanting his sister’s friends to turn on her. Wufei shrugged at this suggestion. He didn’t relish in the idea of running around anymore as his leg was beginning to throb, but he had the sudden urge to see the sky, even if it was too dark out. Trowa put an arm around Quatre’s shoulders and urged him forward.  
“It sounds better than staying here.”  
Quatre nodded, but still seemed unsure.   
*****  
Relena scratched at the gash on her arm as they walked deeper into the mansion. It had started to bleed a few minutes ago and refused to stop, but the amount of blood was small for a wound so big, like that of a paper cut. Still, it was starting to hurt and she somehow knew that all of her friends were going through the same thing. She had never been in a survival situation before. She had watched horror movies before and had always assumed that in this situation, she would be the ‘tough girl’, the one that the hero fell in love with because she always kept her head and knew just what to do when the monster came, but right now, she just felt scared and tired and she wanted very much to go home. She couldn’t understand how her brother kept his optimism and logic and how Heero and Wufei stayed so calm. She felt like she was going mad with each step as they walked deeper and deeper. She thought that the huge place would never stop and that they had been walking for hours when they finally got to the huge, sliding door leading outside to the courtyard. As Heero opened the door, which moved smoothly, Relena was momentarily breathless at the sight of the area. Past the oaks and cherry trees, she could see the dark outline of the mountains in the distance, even though it was night. The huge, fat moon in the sky made their flashlights unnecessary, so they all switched them off. The cherry trees were in full bloom and piles of pink petals lay under them. The well in the middle of the courtyard was large and made of old stone, but strong and intact. There was a solid fence running around the huge courtyard and an old wooden door that, Relena was giddy to think of, probably led outside. The most startling thing, however, were the huge, massive tangles of deep green vines that covered the ground and climbed up ever structure that they could find, with the exception of the well. They looked like snakes, like they could come alive at any moment and, in the dark, their tiny red flowers looked like drops of blood. Wufei wanted to bend down and pluck one of the flowers. He had always loved flowers, though he had been made fun of by his cousins for it and he couldn’t remember having ever seen flowers like these anywhere else, even in books, but they gave the impression of something that was too beautiful, something poisonous, and he didn’t dare touch them. They moved very slowly and very carefully through the mess of vines, careful not to trip on any of them. The last thing they needed was for someone to get a concussion. Heero lagged behind them, enthralled by the flowers. He wasn’t as logical as Wufei was and he bent down to touch one of the petals. They were soft against skin. He stood up and realized, in a panic, that he could no longer see his friends. He blinked in the bright light of the sun. What had just happened? The sun was high in the sky and when he looked around, things were… different.  
There weren’t as many vines now, and the old well didn’t look quite so old. Some of the cherry trees were smaller, others weren’t there at all.   
“Mariemeia, don’t run far!” a deep voice rang in his ear from behind him and he whirled, a vine tangling around his foot, making him fall on his butt. He looked up onto the face of a very tall man with light brown hair, blue eyes, and European features. He sputtered, trying to find words, trying to figure out what was going on, when the man walked right by him like he didn’t see him.   
‘That’s because he _can’t_ see me,’ Heero realized in shock. ‘I’m not really in this place… no, more like I’m not really in this _time_ ,’ Heero thought. A vision… it had to be, just like the ones that Quatre had. Maybe they were right, Trowa and Quatre, maybe almost dying had done something to him, had left a permanent mark on him and now, he was able to see this… whatever this was. But, how was he supposed to get out of it? Would he be stuck in this time, in this vision, forever? He tried to remember everything that Quatre had told him about his psychic visions, but nothing came to him. He watched as the man ran after a small, red headed girl with bright blue eyes that was running towards the well, a tall, beautiful German woman with long brown hair and soft brown eyes walking swiftly behind him. Their names came to him instantly, Treize, Mariemeia, and Une. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he did. Was this the ghost’s work? If it was… what did he want him to see? Une picked up her three year old daughter and looked back at her husband.  
“Do you really think it is a good idea to move into this house?” she asked. Heero dimly realized that what he was looking at had happened sometime in either the late 1800s or early 1900s, based on their clothing.  
“What’s the matter?” Treize asked, “This is the perfect place for my studies. It’s quiet, with lot’s of room for Marie to play. Look at these flowers, I’ve never seen anything like them, aren’t they beautiful?” he said excitedly. Heero snorted. The man reminded him of Wufei, only less composed, but so enthralled by flowers. He couldn’t blame him, though, they were very beautiful, even if by touching one of them, he had ended up in this place…  
“But that’s the problem!” Une pointed out, “There’s so much room. I know you didn’t have to pay a cent to be here, but what if one of us gets lost?”  
“That won’t happen,” Treize assured her, “I have a map and we won’t be using most of the house, anyway. I wasn’t getting anything done in orchards and greenhouses, you know that. How can I call myself a botanist if I don’t get out in the field?” he kissed her cheek, “Tell you what, if I’m recognized for my work, I’ll name these flowers after you.”  
Une rolled her eyes at him.  
“Honey, do me a favor and don’t go giving my name to weeds.”  
“These aren’t weeds!” Treize said, laughing as Mariemeia made a face at him.   
“Can Tilly play out here, too?” the child asked, prepared to pout if her father refused. He smiled.  
“Sure thing, little one, your kitty can play out in the yard, just make sure she doesn’t get out of the yard, ok?”  
Marie nodded eagerly. Treize kneeled down among the vines, running his fingers over them. A breeze filtered through the cherry trees and it almost appeared as though the vines were shuddering at his touch.   
“They’re so beautiful,” he murmured, “just lovely.”   
Heero followed his gaze to the bright red flowers and blinked, his eyes watering, as he saw something underneath his vision, superimposed, like double exposure. He closed his eyes, trying to clear them, only to find that by doing so, he could see it in his entirety. A gasp escaped him as he saw the ghost, no, Duo. He was standing in what looked like a huge a cave. All along the ground were those vines again, but they didn’t have any flowers, they were bare, each and every one that Heero saw. There was someone standing behind Duo, but he couldn’t see him, he reasoned that was because the vision was what Duo remembered, or what he wanted him to see and if Duo didn’t see the person, then he couldn’t, either. Cuts started to appear on his arms, huge, gaping wounds and Duo screamed, making Heero flinch.  
“No!” he cried. His heart was pounding out of control and every muscle in his body tightened. He couldn’t breathe, but he still found himself running towards the ghost as he crumpled to the ground, his blood splattering onto the vines, creating bright red spots on the deep green vegetation. He realized that if he would squint, the vines would like they had bright red flowers…   
“Please don’t kill me!” Duo screamed in Heero’s head, his voice somehow not in the air, but inside of himself. Heero hastily opened his eyes and found himself back in the courtyard, but several days had passed in the vision. Treize was sitting on the steps leading into the courtyard, a journal balanced on his knee as he watered the vines in front of him. He wrote in the journal as he watched the vines soak up the water like sponges. His blue eyes were bright with energy, but Heero read it as fanaticism. Suddenly, his finger caught on the edge of the paper and he cut himself.  
“Shit!” the man swore as several droplets of blood fell on the vines. Then, the vines _moved_. At first Heero thought he was just seeing things and he was sure that Treize had felt the same way, all those years ago, but the vines actually coiled around where the blood had fallen, like sea gulls around trash, as though begging for more, and the blood disappeared. A high pitched sound filled the air, like small children trying to mimic the sound of laughter that didn’t know how. Treize stood and took a step away from the plants.  
“What on earth?” he murmured. He turned and grabbed a drumstick of chicken that Une had given him for lunch and tossed it into the air. Lightning fast, like a rattlesnake striking at its prey, a vine caught the meat and brought it deep into the mass of vines at Treize’s feet. Heero winced as he heard the sounds of sucking, that odd, high-pitched chirping and giggling, and the hideous crunching of bone. Then there was nothing, the drumstick was simply gone.   
“Shit…” Heero whispered, “They’re alive. Everything in this house… it’s all alive…”   
Treize could no longer contain his excitement at his discovery, flesh eating vines, and he ran inside. When he came back, Heero realized, disturbed, that it was actually several weeks later. There were more and more vines growing around the courtyard and they seemed more vibrant and alive than they did in Heero’s time.  
‘That’s because they feed on blood,’ Heero thought in disgust, ‘and they haven’t had any good food in awhile.’  
He watched as Treize walked out in the yard with a small calico cat in his arms.   
“There’s no need to be afraid, Tilly,” Treize said in a soothing voice to the mewing feline. Heero’s eyes widened as he watched Treize let go of the cat and she fell into the mess of vines. They swarmed her as she hissed and screeched at them, twining around her svelte body and tightening, her violent noises swiftly silenced as one vine wrapped around her neck and twisted it until it snapped. The other vines soon joined in, covering the cat, eating it, their flowers looking quite beautiful in the day light.   
“Did you like that?” Treize cooed to the plants and was rewarded with chirping laughter. Heero watched as time passed again, but he couldn’t tell how long, he just knew that it had come and gone. Treize disappeared from his sight and Heero became terrified when, for several seconds, he was alone in the courtyard, alone with the plants. But, he always came out. Heero watched in horror as, day after day, Treize would come out into the yard with an animal to feed his beloved plants, a crow, a rabbit, dogs, and cats… When they fed, he would sit on the steps and scribble frantically in his journal and when they were done, they would whisper.  
‘ _Kill them_ ,’ the plants chirped in a high pitched frenzy, sounding like a child as they cackled and giggled with glee, ‘ _we’re so hungry. Kill them_ …’   
Heero covered his ears and shut his eyes tightly, but the dark, the blindness, terrified him and he opened them again. Talking, eating plants… he wasn’t surprised that by the next time Treize made an appearance, he and his wife looked haggard and worn thin, but what he wasn’t expecting was the man coming through the door with his little girl in his arms, the both of them covered in blood. Heero felt bile rise in his throat at the sight of the girl’s slit throat. Une was at Treize’s heels, looking much like a corpse, tugging at her husband’s arm.  
“You bastard! What are you doing?! Give her back to me!” she screeched insanely. Treize appeared nonchalant about the dead child in his arms or his screaming wife.  
“It has to be done, Une. They need to be fed. How can I continue my research if they starve?” he asked calmly, dropping the corpse into the twining ball of vines. The vines slithered and cried eagerly as the warm flesh fell into their mists.  
“No, you murderer!” the longhaired woman screeched and ran after her daughter into the huge tangles of vegetation. Heero tried to look away from the inevitable, but he couldn’t. It was too late as the vines swarmed the woman and her dead child, wrapping around their legs and pulling them to the ground like wild dogs with dead deer, wrapping around them over and over, tearing their flesh off the bones and the meat disappearing underneath them somehow, until there was nothing left to tear and Heero and Treize watched as the vines seemed to dissolve anything that was left until there was absolutely nothing. Treize’s face looked completely hollow as he watched, dark circles under his eyes.  
‘This is what this place does to people,’ Heero realized, ‘it drives them mad. It’s going to do the same to us.’   
“It’s not enough, is it? You need more, don’t you?” Treize murmured, taking a large butcher knife out of his jacket, and he stabbed himself in the abdomen with it, ripping through himself. Heero squeezed his eyes shut, unable to take anymore, and he heard the sound of hot entrails falling to the ground, followed by the screaming laughter of the plants as they ate.  
*****  
Heero’s eyes shot open and he almost screamed in relief as he saw his friends, still not even at the well, as they walked. He jumped out of the tangle of vines, feeling the overwhelming urge to throw up. He clutched at his stomach. No more… he wanted out of here… but… Duo… what had happened in that other vision? The silence of the night and the darkness was unbearable after what he had ‘seen’ and he ran to catch up with his friends and slowed to a halt in front of a mirror standing a few feet from the well. He shook his head, wanting to close his eyes as he saw the… thing… the thing that looked like Duo, but wasn’t Duo, not the cute boy that had reached for him inside the mirror, the horrible thing that had locked them in, the one with the demons rooted to his back. No one else seemed to notice him as the specter simply stood there on the other side of the mirror and watched them. Empty violet eyes met his and he froze. That stare… he hated it so much, it made him feel like he was going insane, like he should rip out his veins to make everything stop.  
“Why?” he whispered, “Just stop this!” he begged. The ghost grinned as though it had a terribly funny joke to tell.  
“ _All his fault_ ,” it said in a distorted, twisted voice, “ _all Duo’s fault. He should have died… but he didn’t want to sooo badly_ ,” the thing in the mirror jeered, on the verge of cruel laughter. Heero felt an intense rage fill him.   
“Shut the fuck up!” he snapped. The others looked back at him and Relena screamed when she saw what was in the mirror.  
“No one wants to die, why should he have been any different!” Heero yelled. This was so stupid, a small voice told him, he was arguing with a ghost. The thing just continued to smirk.  
“ _He should have died long, long before… but that stupid father of his… so lenient, so sentimental_ …” the ghost giggled, the sound filling all of them with fear, “ _He should have killed him when he was supposed to_ …”  
Heero’s anger surged and he picked up a rock. With a below of rage and threw it at the mirror but, to his dismay, it only bounced off of its surface. However, the ghost instantly disappeared, leaving Heero panting and glaring at his own image.   
“What was that?” Relena asked in a shaky voice.  
“Nothing,” Heero snapped, walking past her, “Let’s just find a way out of here.”  
Zechs nodded at him and they headed towards the door at the other end of the courtyard. Wufei took a deep breath as Heero reached for the handle, a voice inside of his head jeering that if the front door was closed, this one was going to be locked, too. There was a collective gasp from all of them as the door opened with a loud creak, followed by Relena dissolving into tears when they saw what lay beyond the courtyard door.   
*****  
Quatre didn’t feel surprised about anything anymore. He felt like he already knew everything that was going to happen before it happened. He had known that the window wouldn’t break and he had known that they were trapped for good. It was hard to be optimistic when you knew that you were doomed. They had been doomed the second they had stepped through the gate last morning. He had checked his watch. If it wasn’t broken, then they had already spent a day here and it was now noon the next day, but it was dark and the moon was shining down on them. If he thought about that for long, he would go insane, just like if he thought about the ghosts in the mirrors. So, when he had gotten the distinct feeling that opening the door at the end of the courtyard would be pointless, he wasn’t exactly panicked about it. He hated himself for it, but it felt like a large part of himself had already given up. The other part of him kept looking over at Trowa and he felt a strong sense of fear and love for him. He wanted to get out of here before this place did what it did best; destroy them all.   
Relena felt like sobbing when they opened the door and found, not woods, but a long stretch of swamp. There were a few trees here and there, but it was mostly water. She watched in anxiety as her brother picked up a stick and dipped it into the water, only to lose the whole thing.  
“There’s no way we’re getting through this,” Zechs said, “it’s too deep, too long, and too cold to swim in.”  
“What should we do, then?” Wufei asked, trying to keep his voice calm even though he could feel the panic starting to build. This had been too good to be true, he had known that, but he had still enjoyed that little bit of hope when the door had been unlocked. Zechs trudged back to the well and the others followed, wanting to hear what the older boy thought. They all sat at the edge of the well carefully, not wanting to fall in, except for Heero who steered clear of it. Zechs turned to Quatre.  
“Can I see your dad’s cell phone?” he asked. Quatre nodded and handed the satellite phone to the longhaired man. That sense of knowing came over him and he knew that the phone was useless, but he still let hope squirm through the apathy that was eating at his emotions.   
“Shit,” Zechs swore, “there’s no service.”   
“How is that possible?” Relena whispered, feeling tears forming in her eyes, “It’s a satellite phone, there has to be service.”   
Zechs seemed to ignore her, handing the useless device back to Quatre.   
“Well, we have a gate that is too heavy to close, closing on itself, a door that locking itself, windows made of unbreakable wood, a door that leads to a deep swamp, and now we have a phone that is supposed to always have service fail us. I think its pretty obvious that something, or someone, wants us to stay,” Wufei said bitterly, “so I ask again, what now?”   
Zechs ran a hand through his bangs, wanting to comfort the Chinese boy but not knowing how. Relena curled her fingers around the edge of the well and paused at small grooves that she felt there. She looked down at her hand and saw long scratches going down into the well on the stone surface. She shuddered as she looked down into the darkness. It felt like looking into an abyss, like looking down into hell.   
“We’re going to wait here for our parents,” Zechs decided, “We can go to bed and in the morning, we’ll explore some more. I know nobody wants to do that, but it’s important to keep busy.”  
No one had anything to say or contest about that, so they followed the older boy back into the house and to their ‘bedroom.’  
*****  
Despite the gnawing exhaustion that was eating away at them at that point from the confusion of time and fear and adrenaline, none of them could sleep. The knowledge that it was still not ‘night’, according to his watch, Quatre couldn’t let himself doze off. The roof above their heads creaked like someone was walking above them, which was impossible. Relena had started to doze off when the sound of a door opening had made her wide awake again. Sometimes in the few hours when they were all lying down, they would hear people whispering through the walls and the crazy laughter of a small child. It was impossible to sleep with such maddening noises. Quatre snuggled against Trowa’s chest and Relena curled up into a miserable ball in the corner of the room. She made a small choking noise when she caught the sight of the mutilated boy in the mirror.  
“Ignore it,” Zechs told her, looking at the wall, his arms wrapped around his knees, “just ignore it.” His voice was tired and resigned, but Relena found that it was difficult to pull her eyes away from the ghost, like watching a car wreck. There was a strong pull, like an inaudible voice screaming at her to look into those flat, terrible violet eyes. How could she possibly sleep with that… thing watching her? She forced herself to look away, but shuddered feeling those eyes burning into her very soul. She looked over at her brother and felt an intense sense of worry for him, at the weary look in his eyes. What if their parents didn’t come for them? She hated that thought, but she had to think it. It was ludicrous, of course, their parents were probably already wondering why one of them hadn’t called and they would be here in the morning. But… what if morning never came for them? What if they were doomed to live in this night forever? But, that was impossible… right?  
All of them jumped as a door upstairs slammed shut. In Trowa’s strong arms, Quatre’s eyes had finally started to feel heavy and he had been half asleep, but the shocking noise jolted him out of it and he felt wide awake again, his heart pounding. Duo’s image was gone from the mirror, but he could still feel him, watching all of them. His skin itched to leave the horrible place, knowing how wrong and unnatural it was. He felt trapped, like a rabbit in a snare, just waiting for the hunter to come along and slit his throat.   
“We should leave this room,” Wufei suddenly said shakily.   
“It doesn’t matter,” Quatre murmured, Trowa’s comforting hand squeezing his shoulder, “he’s just going to follow us no matter where we go,” he pointed out, “This isn’t like running away from a serial killer. He’s a ghost, he’s in the wood of this place, no matter where we go, he’ll be there, if he wants to be.”   
Zechs suddenly got to his feet.  
“He can follow us all he wants, but if I’m not going to sleep, then I’m going outside,” he said gruffly.  
“Zechs, don’t!” Wufei begged, standing to stop him, but paused at the blue eyed man’s intense look.  
“I need to see the sky,” Zechs murmured.   
*****  
The moon was still fat in the black sky when they traced their steps back to the courtyard.   
‘There isn’t much of a sky to see,’ Relena thought bitterly. Heero’s eyes were plastered to the mirror as the walked past it, sure that he would see Duo or some other specter in the flat glass, but there was nothing there this time. As they stepped near the well, Relena gasped, feeling something ripping open her shoulder. Her mind supplied that it was just another trick, but she paused to push her shirt away from her shoulder and fear made her stomach quiver. The deep slash over her shoulder was no trick or illusion, nor was the blood that was sluggishly leaking out of it, trailing down her arm.   
“No,” she whispered in shock. Her first impulse was to scratch at it as it started to ache and itch, but the blood scared her enough to ignore the impulse. When she looked at the others, they were all wearing various degrees of discomfort and Trowa’s shirt had a spot of blood on his stomach that was slowly growing, spreading like disease. Was that what this was? Some sort of horrible disease? Would the cuts just keep spreading and spreading until they bled to death? Relena watched in horror as a cut suddenly appeared over Quatre’s cheek. It was like watching an invisible knife scrape over his skin, not deep enough to kill, but enough to send a stream of blood down his face.   
Trowa saw the blood and panicked, ripping off a piece of his shirt to soak it up. Quatre smiled at him in reassurance, pressing the cloth to his cut. Heero seemed to be the only one not in pain, truthfully, he was terrified. All of his friends were suffering, but he didn’t feel any cuts. The only one he had was the one on his hand from touching the mirror, but unlike the others’ wounds, his was healing rather well. It didn’t make sense. Why wasn’t he being cut as well and why were the cuts there to begin with? Relena noticed Heero’s strange look, but the question in her mind was so vague, just starting to form, that she couldn’t quite find the words to ask it. She flinched as something brushed against her leg, but when she looked down, she only saw the vines on the ground and shrugged it off as her own imagination.   
Zechs ignored the urge to scratch at the newly formed cut on the back of his neck and trudged forward to the well. Even out here, he felt claustrophobic, as though he had never left the house. At first, he had thought that Quatre was simply panicking with all those terrible things he had said, but he knew it was the truth. They were never going to get out of the house. He knew physical things like how much pressure wood could withstand before it snapped, but things like ghosts and barriers that couldn’t be broken, no matter the force, he just didn’t understand. How could you escape a place that had no laws? He felt no safer outside, looking at the impossible, never ending moon, than he had been inside, listening to the sounds and seeing Duo everywhere. He knew that they wouldn’t be safe until they left the mansion entirely.   
Relena walked past her brother, who was just staring up at the moon as though he was in shock. She sat on the edge of the well, trying to use the feel of the cold stone under his hands to curb her own shaking, and the sudden intense need to just scream. She had never liked closed spaces, even as a kid, and even though the house was huge, it was worse than being locked in a closet.   
“We should have something to eat,” Trowa suggested, “we’re all tired, but we need to keep our energy up more than anything.”  
Wufei nodded in agreement and handed out the sandwiches, pastrami and cheese this time. He realized that he had no idea how long they had been trapped here for. Such a thought was strange to him and sounded stupid, even in his own head. The moon was still out, so it was still only night, but it seemed much longer to him. Still, the sandwiches were still good, so it couldn’t have been too long. But… that was silly, wasn’t it? If it had been longer than a night, their parents would have come for them already.   
As Relena chewed on her sandwich, her eyes glanced over to the mouth of the well and the dark abyss that seemed to go on and on. She flinched as she felt another brush against her leg, but, predictably, there were only the vines. However, as she kept her gaze locked on the green vegetation, she could have sworn she saw it move. She looked back into the tunnel-like well and a severe chill almost overwhelmed her. It was like looking into the very heart of Hell.  
 _Jump_! A high pitched voice that didn’t actually sound like a voice, screeched through her mind, followed by what sounded like children laughing. She squeezed her eyes shut. She was going mad… Her crystal blue eyes shot open again as one of the vines wrapped around her foot.   
Relena’s loud scream made everyone jump, even Wufei, who glared at her as she jumped to her feet, dropping her sandwich, and tore the vine off of her.  
“What is wrong with you?” he demanded, annoyed that she had scared him. They had enough to be frightened about without her freaking out at every little shadow.  
“The vines, they’re alive!” she screamed. Wufei gave Zechs a worried look, which the silver haired man returned. The two of them had been waiting for one of their small group to snap and it seemed somehow fitting that it would be Relena. However, Heero only looked at her as though he had been expecting it, not that she was crazy.  
“That’s the stupid thing I’ve ever heard!” Wufei snapped, “The vines are not alive, are you even listening to yourself?!”   
“Shut up, Wufei!” Heero snapped back at him. The remark made Relena blush and she felt her heart flutter.  
“They are alive,” Heero’s voice was strong and solid, “Look at the sandwich,” he ordered. Wufei looked down and the color drained from his face, the expression echoed on the faces of Zechs, Trowa, and even Quatre, though the blonde had been almost positive of what he would see, even before he saw it. Tendrils of green vine were wrapped around the sandwich, like a snake around a mouth, and bits of it disappeared under the vine, accompanied by sickening, loud, wet sounds.  
“Oh my god,” Wufei whispered, taking a step back, away from the terrible sight, but he almost screamed himself when he stepped on more vines and he realized that they were completely surrounded by them. Quatre watched him with flat, expressionless eyes.  
“It’s like I said,” he intoned softly, with no hint of boasting or arrogance, “Duo will follow us no matter where we go. He’s everywhere, in every piece wood, every leaf. He’s never going to let us go.”   
Relena wanted to protest, but she could physically feel the truth in his words. Even now, though she couldn’t see him, she could feel the malicious spirit watching them. Still, the fear that she felt knowing that was overshadowed by the fact that Heero, though subtle, had stood up for her. It was enough to make her heart ache.   
“What does he want?” Wufei asked in crazed desperation, “If he just wants to kill us, why not get over with? Is he just playing with us?!”  
“It doesn’t matter,” Trowa reminded them, “Our parents will come in the morning.”  
Relena shook her head frantically.  
“It’s never going to be morning.”  
Trowa gave her a sharp look.   
“She’s right,” Quatre agreed, “It’s an endless night. He won’t let it end.”   
“That’s ridiculous!” Zechs said sharply. He couldn’t take anymore of the craziness and took off for the door back into the house. The others followed him, but Wufei watched Heero closely. There was something wrong with his friend, something that wasn’t entirely… earthly. He had no cuts like they did. At first he had assumed the one on his palm was one of them, but their cuts refused to heal and stop bleeding while Heero’s had stopped bleeding after only an hour. Then, he had shown no shock at learning about the vines. Something was definitely going on, but he had no idea what it could be, something that he hated. That feeling of not knowing was what was driving him mad, little by little.  
*****  
“Morning should have come by now, so it’s not completely ridiculous,” Quatre tried to point out as Zechs ignored him.   
“They’ll come for us,” Zechs said stubbornly.   
Wufei lagged behind as they moved through the mansion, towards their room, keeping his eyes on Heero. He vowed that he would figure out what was happening with him. In a situation like this, he needed to solve something tangible before he lost himself to the impossibilities of the mansion. However, as they passed by one of the many ‘crossroads’ of hallways, a glimmer of white caught his eye. His coal eyes widened and he froze.   
‘It can’t be,’ he told himself. Pale, delicate feet made the floorboards creak as the figure passed down the hallway. It moved slowly, but he only had a split second to see it. Still, he saw it clear as day. The figure was a woman with short black hair and Asian features, dressed in a beautiful, white, billowing gown. His body moved, ready to chase after her, but in a second, she was gone. A tear tracked down his cheek and his hand twitched, as though it wanted to grab at something that wasn’t there.   
“Wufei!” Zechs called to him, snapping Wufei out of his daze.  
‘It can’t be,’ his thoughts repeated as he followed Zechs mindlessly, like a robot or zombie. ‘It can’t be.’  
*****  
How Quatre and Trowa managed to fall asleep, Wufei didn’t know. He was tired, himself, but sleep had never felt further from his grasp than now. Not only was he terrified of what would happen if he closed his eyes, just for a few minutes, he had too many thoughts whirling in his head to attempt to rest. His eyes were fixed on Quatre and Trowa. They were sleeping in each other’s arms, latched onto each other so tightly one of them had to be hurting the other. Wufei smiled bitterly.  
‘We used to hold each other like that, late at night when it was so dark and lonely, all we could do was hear our hearts beating. Meiran… what are you doing in this horrible place… You escaped, you shouldn’t be here, you don’t deserve to be here!’  
Wufei’s hands curled into fists. This wasn’t fair. He had only seen the ghost for a second, but he knew that it was her. He was as sure as that as he needed to breathe to live. Chang-Long Meiran… the only woman he had ever loved. It seemed sick that he was seeing her in this place, yet, also, somehow appropriate.   
*****  
He and Long Meiran had been engaged to be married since the day they had been born. They had been born on the same day and their families had been connected for centuries, so the marriage had been an accepted deal. He and Meiran had grown up as good friends so neither of them had any problem with the engagement. Wufei didn’t know who fell for whom first, but by the time they were thirteen, they had already been dating for awhile. Meiran had been the most beautiful girl in the world, smart and strong and just… perfect. However, when they turned thirteen, that perfection had faded. Meiran collapsed one day and his parents had taken her to the hospital, against her parents’ wishes. The Longs were old fashioned, believing in family medicine instead of doctors and hospitals. In the end, Meiran had been diagnosed with heart cancer and she only had a few months to live. He blamed her parents, but not as much as he blamed himself. She had been tired for months before that, had grown more and more frail, but her parents had relied too much on remedies that were useless and he had preferred to believe that everything was fine instead of discovering that she was sick.   
*****  
 _Wufei looked down at his fiancé as she slept, her face pinched in pain. His and her parents sat around her futon, watching and waiting for the slight indication that she could be leaving them. Her hair, usually done up in adorable pigtails, was loose and mussed by sweat, the scent of sickness clinging to every strand. She was horribly pale, her skin tight as she had lost a lot of weight in only a few months. She still looked beautiful to him, though, her small body looking so pretty in her white dress, the dress, he was sure, she would die in. Her eyelids fluttered open and he stared into her ebony eyes._  
 _“Meiran…” he murmured. She smiled softly at him and his heart clenched when he saw the urge to touch him in her eyes. He met her halfway, holding her thin hand._  
 _“Are you in much pain?” he asked._  
 _“No, not much,” she said in a small, fading voice and he knew that he was lying. He wanted to look away. He couldn’t take watching her struggle, just to breathe. He almost wished that she would just die already and get it all over with._  
 _“I love you,” she whispered, her eyes sliding shut once more. She was no longer able to stay awake for any longer than a few minutes at a time. Wufei composed himself, though he wanted to let his tears fall. He waited patiently for his parents and in laws to leave before letting go. He wanted to yell at Meiran’s mother and father to take her to the hospital, where she could get the medicine that she needed to prolong her life, or at least a way to dull her excruciating pain. He watched in torture as his fiancé and best friend moaned in pain in her sleep. He closed his eyes again, his fingers caressing the ring he had put on Meiran’s finger. The tears refused to stop as he gripped at her hand._  
 _“I’m so sorry, love,” he whispered painfully._  
 _The next morning, they all awoke to find that Meiran had died some time that night._   
*****  
Wufei’s nails dug into his palms, drawing blood as he watched Quatre and Trowa sleep peacefully. It was because of Meiran’s death that he had moved to Japan, but he didn’t blame her for his current… dilemmas. He turned away from Quatre and Trowa, unable to handle watching the sweet lovers any longer. He could have had that, but now, there was nothing and that goddamn ghost was using his love’s death to torment him! He lied on his stomach, his leg aching, but he only wished that he could feel more pain, could have more punishment for being responsible for losing the one good thing in his life.  
*****  
Heero opened his eyes and found himself back in the courtyard. In the time that he had spent in the mansion, he had accepted the fact that, in order to stay sane, he had to accept things as they were, even if they were impossible. However, the logical part of his mind stubbornly clung to things like time and space and physics, so when he suddenly opened his eyes and found himself outside, he was terrified. Was he stuck back in the vision, or was this something even more awful? He knew that the ghost, Duo, could do whatever he pleased in this place, there didn’t have to be a reason for it, but he still searched for one. Ignoring his original impulse to scream, Heero looked around his surroundings. He realized that he should have become accustomed to things like this happening the second he had seen the tortured boy in the mirror, but he felt like he was losing his footing. He didn’t understand anything anymore. Why were his friends being cut, but the ghost was sparing him? It didn’t make any sense to him. What was even more confusing was his sudden emotional connection to the spirit. He wanted to help him, even knowing that it was Duo holding the doors closed and torturing them this way. He couldn’t stand the accusations of the other spirit or the vision of him being cut, his blood spilling on the vines…  
Heero’s blue eyes widened as he suddenly realized what it was about the courtyard that was bothering him, the thing that was different… there were no vines. There was soft grass under his feet, but not a trace of the sinister, carnivorous vines. That was something else all together… he could feel the grass under his feet, could feel the light breeze and smell the blooming cherry blossoms. The last time he had been stuck in a vision, he had only been able to see things, not feel them. The sudden… realness of it was shocking to him. He could hear birds singing in the trees surrounding the mansion and he realized that everything was brand new. The grass and flowers were freshly cut and maintained by an obvious professional, the wood of the mansion looked perfect with not so much as a scratch. The stone of the well was absent of algae, but his eyes widened when he saw the large well.   
On the edge of the well sat a young boy about six or seven years old wearing a very familiar, sleeveless, white kimono, with an equally familiar chestnut braid trailing down the child’s back, though it must shorter than the ghost’s.   
‘Duo…’ Heero thought in shock, ‘but he’s alive… this isn’t a ghost, this is when he was still alive. But… he’s just a child…’   
The sight of Duo’s bare arms as his hands lay on the flat surface of the well, pale and smooth, absent of any of the scars he would get later in life, was heartbreaking. Heero wanted to reach out and touch him, but he didn’t dare. Heero walked around the well, so he could look at the child’s face. He took a deep breath when he met deep violet eyes that looked right through him.   
‘He’s so beautiful…’ Heero thought. Those eyes were different than the ghost’s, bright, alive, filled with childish excitement for everything around him. The bells tied to his ankle jingled as the boy swung his legs. Suddenly, Duo stuck two fingers into his mouth and whistled loudly. Heero’s eyes widened as he watched a large crow fly toward the boy and land on his outstretched hand. He felt a chill crawl up his spine, but he wasn’t sure why.   
“Chii-chan!” the boy smiled wide, petting the crow on the head with his other hand. Heero’s breath stuck in his throat at the sound of his voice. It was first time he had heard it, undistorted by death or malice. It was lovely, just like the rest of him.  
‘This is ridiculous, I’m falling in love with a ghost…’ Heero realized, but though the idea was silly to him, the reality of it wasn’t. He did feel a strange sort of affection for both the living boy before him and the older ghost that had reached out to him inside the mirror. He wished that he could make that spirit smile, like this child was now.  
The crow make a deep chirping noise as the boy’s fingers stroked its feathers. Duo reached into his obi and took out a scrap of meat, feeding it to the bird. Heero chuckled. It was a childish thing, hiding things in an obi. He remembered when his mother had taken him to the village summer festivals and he had had to wear a yukata. The obi had been much smaller, but he had hidden snacks and toys in it to keep himself occupied (1).   
“That’s a silly name for a crow, isn’t it, teishu-san? (2)  
Heero whirled at the somehow familiar, but equally alien voice and felt his heart stop in his chest. Approaching the well from the porch was a child that looked exactly like him. The boy had to be about ten or eleven, maybe even twelve, dressed in a dark blue yukata, the same messy chocolate hair and smoldering blue eyes as Heero’s own, only, this boy walked differently and the way he spoke was different. Heero realized that they were talking in an older dialect of Japanese, which made sense if what he was seeing was centuries ago. No, this boy wasn’t him… not only was it impossible, but there was something about him that was very different. Duo’s face scrunched up cutely, making a strange heat and sense of protectiveness fill Heero’s chest.  
“Don’t call me that!” he protested, “Besides, Chii’s a good name, tomodachi (3),” the longhaired boy teased. The older boy ruffled his hair.  
“Helen-sama will be upset that you’re feeding her bits of your dinner,” the boy scolded.  
“But, she’s hungry,” Duo pouted. The other boy rolled his eyes and, digging into his own, smaller obi, produced a bit of fish. The crow watched the fish with hungry eyes, making a happy screeching noise when the boy fed it to her.   
“Hypocrite,” Duo said with a grin.   
“How did you learn that word?” the boy pressed.  
“Dorothy-chan taught me it,” Duo said.   
The dark haired boy sighed.  
“Don’t listen to her anymore, Duo-san,” he advised.   
Heero blushed as Duo leaned his entire body against the other boy’s arm.  
“It’s alright,” Duo murmured, putting his arm down, making Chii fly off, “You’re the only friend I need. We’ll always be together, right?”   
“Baka,” the other boy said with an affectionate smirk.   
*****  
Quatre awoke slowly, in the same dark place that he had fallen asleep in. He groaned softly. Not this… not again… was it always going to be the same, up until the moment of his death? It was getting colder and colder in the mansion and that lack of heat made his eyes widen and he sat up straight. He searched around the room for any sign of life. The moon was still fully, its light illuminating the room, showing him that he was utterly, completely alone. He realized that it was not the cold that had awoken him, but the absence of his lover. Not only that, but all of his friends had vanished, too. All of their things, back packs, water bottles, even their sleeping bags, had all vanished. He got to his feet quickly. How could they have left him behind? Had Relena finally gone through with her insane plan of leaving him behind? No, that couldn’t be true. Even if what she had suggested, that it was because of his abilities that the house was… coming alive, even if he had fallen asleep and all of the doors and windows had opened again, Trowa would never leave him behind. Something else, something terrible, had happened.   
Quatre abandoned his things and ran out of the room.  
“Trowa!” he screamed. The long hallway echoed the sound, almost as though it was mocking him, but there were no other sounds. No creaks, no chatting of familiar, or unwanted, voices, just an endless silence, ending and beginning once again at the sound of his own voice. He shivered in the darkness of the hallway.  
“Heero, Wufei, Zechs!” he continued to yell, “Relena!”   
There was nothing, just more echoes of his voice as he walked towards the staircase. It couldn’t be… he couldn’t be alone, not in this horrible place… Quatre shuddered as fear gripped his heart, but he tried to deny it as the cold. For all of his psychic abilities, he was horribly vulnerable in this place. The ghosts could invade his dreams, his mind, and destroy his sanity so easily. So, what was it waiting for? And what had happened to his friends? Had they been swept away while they had all been dreaming?   
*****  
Zechs couldn’t remember what he had been dreaming about, but it was something terrible, so he was glad when he finally woke up. It was a relief to just open his eyes and know that, against all the odds, he was still alive. That was how he had fallen asleep in the first place, by just giving up his fear and replacing it with apathy. Whether he lived or died, he would awake in the same hell until those doors downstairs opened. He didn’t know when it had happened, but he had given up on any optimism regarding being rescued during a morning that would never come. However, though the act of opening his eyes was a huge relief, what he saw made him get to his feet as swiftly as he could. He was somewhere else, somewhere new. It was clearly one of the guest rooms, but which one, or how he had gotten there, he couldn’t figure out.   
“Shit!” he swore. The only comfort for him in the strange room was the blanket that had been thrown over both mirrors in the room. If he had to rationalize something that seemed completely illogical, he would say that the ghost was, somehow, linked to the mirrors. It didn’t make him feel completely safe, but it was better than staring at his own reflection, wondering if the longhaired spirit would come out of there at any second to choke the life out of him. The things was, like his little sister, he, too, had a strange affinity for horror movies and he was well versed in spirits and vampires and such, or at least, until coming here, he had thought he was. However, this ghost, their ghost, did not act as ghosts ‘should’, or at least as Hollywood saw them. He wasn’t picking them off one by one. He wasn’t making things fly around the room or possessing any of them. Really, he hadn’t threatened any of them. And yet, there was some horribleness about him that made them _sense_ that their lives were in danger. The movies rarely touched on those bits, the part about the mere feeling of the supernatural that wormed its way into your brain like both a hungry parasite and a raging fire, turning you inside out until you were no longer _you_ anymore. He had never been this scared, this displaced before, and that feeling made him want to scream.   
Zechs went to the sliding door and opened it, breathing in relief when he recognized the upstairs hallway. The last thing he wanted was to be lost. Really, he had only been moved a few rooms away from theirs, though whether he had been actually taken or had somehow sleep walked, he didn’t know. Right now, he didn’t particularly care. He might have been scared and feeling lost, but in the end, Relena and her friends were his responsibility as the oldest, so his one and only priority was to find them and see that they were safe. Even in the dark of the mansion, it was fairly easy to find the room that he had disappeared from.  
“Relena!” he called as he entered, but the moonlight showed him that the room was empty of everything, especially his sister.  
“Fuck!” he nearly screamed, his words echoing through the wood of the room and hallway. The one thing he could not afford to do was lose his little sister! He ran a shaking hand through his bangs. This wasn’t happening… didn’t they know to stay put?! But, maybe they had awoken to find him gone and had left to look for him or, even worse, perhaps they had been spirited away in their sleep as well. All he knew was that he needed to find Relena. And what about Wufei? The boy’s leg wouldn’t let him to get far. Zechs’ pale skin blushed darkly at the thought of the Chinese boy. It wasn’t fair, in fact, it was pretty disgusting, he realized, to prioritize the safety of a boy he had a crush on over his own sister, but he did. It made him feel so guilty, he actually felt sick over it, but he was more worried about Wufei than Relena, and it had little to do with his handicap. He had fallen for the dark haired boy years ago, but Wufei had never seemed the type to be interested in someone like him. Now, trapped in this mansion, waiting to die or go insane from the feeling of being trapped, he deeply regretted his decision to never ask Wufei out, even for a simply coffee. He should have.  
‘I will,’ Zechs vowed as he left the room and started to go to another room, systematically checking each guest room on the upstairs for any trace of the others, ‘If we survive this, I’m asking him out!’   
However, with an insane spirit keeping the doors locked and watching them from the mirrors, shrouded and trapped by impenetrable wood and an endless night, such a promise seemed small, stupid, and utterly impossible.   
*****  
“Trowa!” Quatre screamed, running through the maze of downstairs hallways. He had no idea where he was going, his flashlight bouncing wildly as he ran. He was so lost, he wasn’t sure where he was and he didn’t have the map. No matter how loudly he screamed his lover’s name, nothing ever answered him. He knew that he was panicking, that he should slow down and plan out his searching, but he was too scared. He didn’t want to slow down, didn’t want to stop by any mirrors or hear any sweet chimes of small bells. All he wanted was to find his lover, if he could do that, it didn’t matter to him if the ghost found him or not. He came to an abrupt stop when he reached a maze of tatami rooms that were open, their doors broken, some completely missing. He looked back the way he had come, but he realized that he didn’t remember which way he had come. He stumbled into one of the rooms and sat heavily on the floor, his back against the wall. Sobs bubbled out of his tight chest and he curled into a ball.  
“Trowa… why did you leave?” he cried. He was alone, so utterly alone… it was dark and cold and there was no one… He didn’t want to die this way! He didn’t want to die alone!   
“ _How does it feel_?” a distorted, terrible voice filled his head, making him want to scream, “ _How does it feel to be left behind by the one you love most_?”  
“Shut up!” Quatre screamed, “Just shut the fuck up! Bring him back!”   
Cruel laughter filled the room and Quatre’s back stiffened when he heard heavy creaking approaching the room, accompanied by the bitter sweet sound of a bell.  
“ _You’re all going to die here_.”  
*****  
It wasn’t long before Zechs’ patient search became frantic. He wished that they had cell phone service, just so he could figure out where the hell all of his friends and his sister had gone. He entertained the idea that they were outside, but after the scare they had had with the vines outside, he had no desire to go there. After almost tripping over his own feet, desperately exploring each upstairs room, he had to slow down out of fear that he would end up breaking his neck. As scared as he had been before, the house seemed even more terrible when he was by himself. The only consolation he had was that no one was around to see him panicking. His steps faltered as the light from his flashlight fell on some red spots on the floor. Using his flashlight, he tracked the spots until they became a huge smear, leading around the corner of the hallway.  
“What the hell?” he wondered out loud, his stomach becoming heavy with fear and disgust. Was this just another trick of the ghost, or had it finally stopped playing such games and had killed one of them? What if he was the last one alive?   
With shaking legs, he followed the thick smear of blood, at least, he was almost positive it was blood, until it led into an open room. He realized, simultaneously, that the room was one of the libraries and that they had visited it earlier, though they had closed the door when they had left. Every instinct he had told him to stop following the blood, that he really didn’t want to know what was at the end of it, but he found himself putting one foot in front of the other, getting closer and closer inside the room. He let his flashlight guide him, following the trail of blood and not focusing on anything else. Suddenly, the small ray of light fell on something solid and Zechs took a stumbling step towards it.  
“No…” his voice wavered in shock. His stomach clenched and bile rose in his throat. It was Wufei, or at least, it had been not too long ago. His body was twisted around and around like rope or a piece of licorice, the bones snapped like feeble wood, his black eyes staring up at Zechs, wide and blind, glassed over in obvious death.   
“Oh, God!” the silver haired man gasped out, feeling the urge to vomit at the sight of a boy he had seen only a few hours ago, if that.   
“Why?!” he took a step away from the horrible, twisted corpse, his legs becoming weak and he fell on his butt on the hard wood floor. His flashlight fell from his shaking fingers, crashing onto the floor and rolling away from him, illuminating another figure in the room. Zechs’ wide eyes stared at the figure, taking in a small boy, looking very familiar except for its age. The longhaired boy just stood there, watching him and his friend’s corpse with amusement. He couldn’t have been older than seven, his clothes stained a brilliant red, just like the teenaged version of himself, but he watched them like it was a wonderful game.  
“You,” Zechs snarled, terror and rage building up inside of him, “you did this, you killed him, why?!”  
The little ghost grinned at him and started to laugh.   
*****  
Elizabeth Victoria Peacecraft leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the black Mercedes her husband was driving, her crystal blue eyes looking out, into the deep woods they were driving towards, a thick fog making it difficult to see the road ahead of them, but her husband had always been a careful driver.  
“Are you sure that this is where they went?” she questioned as she looked towards the mansion looming in the distance. Her husband, Richard, took one of his hands off the wheel to hold her smaller, slenderer one and gave it a comforting squeeze.  
“Zechs’ note said that they would be in the mansion, working on their paper,” he reminded her, “They probably got caught up. They’re still kids, after all, and the summer’s almost over. They just decided to stay a little longer, make a sleepover out of it,” he tried to assure her, but she could hear the anxiety in his voice and she bit her lip. Both of her children should have come home last night, according to her son’s note, but they hadn’t. Zechs’ car was missing and there phones were either turned off or there was no service where they were. They had called the police, but they were of no help, simply telling them to wait until tomorrow and if their children still weren’t home, they would search for them. Elizabeth didn’t see the point in that. She knew where her children were and for all she knew, they could be in danger.  
“What if they’re hurt?” she worried, “Relena always gets a little carried away and that house is so old. What if the roof collapsed? Mr. Chang, Yuy, Winner, and Barton also told us that they’re children were missing, something terrible must have happened.”  
“Relax,” her husband soothed, “We’re going there now, we’re going to find them!”   
Elizabeth continued to chew on her lip as the car turned onto the forest path and they got closer and closer to the huge house.  
“I hate that place,” she murmured.   
Ever since she and her family had moved to Nasue, she had looked to the mansion, constantly looming in the town’s horizon like some terrible, guardian angel, with hate and revulsion. The sight of the place creeped her out, but when she had heard about the stories of the place, the ritual sacrifices and various murders and disappearances, she had begun to despise it, like a whore house near a playground. As far as she was concerned, such a place should have been bulldozed years ago, yet here she was, going to that very same place to look for her daughter and son. The fog did not abate as they finally reached the entrance to the mansion, but the sight of Zechs’ car parked outside was like a beacon to the both of them.  
“They’re still here!” Elizabeth cried, flinging open her door and running through the gate, which was open just a little bit.   
“Wait!” Richard called, running after her, grabbing the first aid kit they had put in the car, just in case. He followed her to the door and she flung it open. The old wood door was a little bit stubborn, but gave way with a loud creak as she ran inside.  
“Relena! Zechs!” she yelled. Richard shivered as he went inside. Even though it was the afternoon, and even with the fog the sun was shining brightly enough outside, it was dark in the house, like a tomb that no light could ever reach. His wife’s words seemed to echo in a vast amount of endless space, but in the end, were swallowed up by the darkness. It was amazing to think that such a place existed in their own town. Elizabeth didn’t seem to be so overwhelmed as she darted forward, screaming their children’s names. He continued to run after her, feeling useless without a flashlight, following the wavy gold of her hair. He watched helplessly as she flung open door after door, only long enough to scream for Zechs and Relena before she was off to another door.   
“Lizzie, stop it!” Richard made a grab for her, but she dove erratically down another hallway, evading him. He followed her, step for step, a part of him wanting her to stop, but another was just as desperate to find his children and if her random searching could find them…  
The mansion was like a maze and, even though Richard had had a secret love of puzzles when he had been a child, he found himself getting easily frustrated. There were so many steps and rooms and hallways, it wasn’t hard to see how people could get lost. Suddenly, through the darkness, he saw that his wife had reached the very end of one of the hallways and stood in front of a large door.  
“Elizabeth,” he breathed. His heart was pounding at the sight of the door, though he couldn’t figure out why, and he didn’t want her to open that door.   
“Don’t,” he begged, but his wife seemed to be in a different time, opening the door without even hearing his words. The two of them walked into what appeared to be total darkness, yet they could see a few feet ahead of them. Richard reasoned that it had to be total darkness, since there were no windows in the new hallway and no lamps, either, yet, somehow, they could see where no visible light was shining. They stumbled together into the hallway. Richard squinted into the blackness and barely saw the shadows of ropes dangling from the ceiling that got clearer and clearer the closer they walked. He dived and dodged, trying to keep any of the ropes from touching him, though he wasn’t sure if it was the chill in the achingly long corridor or the dark stains on the ropes, but they scared him enough to keep clear of them. The two of them walked and walked and walked until he was sure that the hallway had no end when his wife, only a few feet ahead of him, started to scream.   
Richard’s last thought before his entire mind was filled with white noise was that they had finally found at least one of their children and some of their friends. Four bodies hung by the ropes around their necks in front of Elizabeth and they recognized each of them. Quatre was the most recognizable out of the other two of Relena and Zechs’ friends, his blonde hair clean and shimmering and his body whole except for the deep bruises around his neck, his blue eyes staring open. All of their eyes were staring open. Wufei’s body was horribly mangled, twisted around and around in a terrible spiral. Trowa’s body was slashed almost to ribbons, covered in huge cuts. Richard’s wide eyes looked at his son, hanging there like all the others, only… he was untouched. It was obvious that it was the hanging that had killed him. It was also obvious to him that, that no one but Zechs himself could have hung him like that. His son had committed suicide… had he killed and hung his friends as well? But, the question that started to break through the white noise, little by little, was where were Heero and Relena?  
Elizabeth kept screaming. (4)  
*****  
Heero, Relena, Quatre, Trowa, Wufei, and Zechs all awoke at exactly the same moment, all of them, except for Heero, choking on their screams. Quatre and Trowa grabbed at each other’s hands, their nerves tingling at the feeling of contact when their minds had believed they would never get that privilege again. Zechs sought Wufei out in the same way, but only with his eyes, feeling some deep rooted tension release him when he saw that he was alive and well, but the image of his twisted body stayed with him, like an overlapping image he couldn’t shake. Relena, herself, couldn’t stop shaking with what she just saw. She wished it was like all of her other dreams, once she had woken, it would start to fade, but it was just as clear, just as vivid, as when she had been asleep. She wondered if she was still asleep, if she had been sleeping all along.   
“What the hell was that?!” Wufei demanded, struggling out of his sleeping bag to stand and look over his friends, his leg feeling like a solid weight. Sure enough, all of them were accounted for and mostly ok, except they each had new slashes on some parts of their bodies, a little deeper, bleeding a little bit more, along with the older scratches.   
“I was dreaming,” Trowa murmured as he wrapped his arms around Quatre and his lover melted in his embrace, “we had all gotten separated.”  
“I woke in this room,” Quatre said, “all alone. I ran all over the place looking for all of you, but we were lost, disappeared. Then, Duo came to me…”  
“I was in a different room,” Zechs continued where Quatre had left off, “I searched and searched-,”  
“But you found me dead,” Wufei said in a spooked voice, “I don’t remember what happened, one minute I was looking for all of you and the next… I don’t know.”  
“I dreamt that our parents came looking for us,” Relena said, looking at her brother, “they came here, but when they found us… we were all dead, except for Heero and I. It was like… we had disappeared into nothingness.”  
All seven of them felt a chill go down their spines at her words.  
“It felt so real,” she whispered. Wufei shook his head.  
“They’re just dreams,” he said stubbornly, “I mean, it’s still dark out,” he gestured to the small window in the room which showed them a black world outside of the mansion.  
“My watch says we’ve been asleep for ten hours,” Quatre announced.  
“Your watch is broken,” Zechs said gruffly.   
“It’s insane, isn’t it? Quatre mused, “According to my watch, two days have passed, but it’s still dark, like an endless night…”  
“Like I said, your watch is broken,” Zechs insisted, but deep down, he didn’t believe that at all. He knew exactly what Quatre was talking about, the feeling that they were stuck in the same hour, over and over and over again, in an unending loop. It was impossible, insane, and terrifying. It felt like they had never slept at all, like he had spent the last ten hours wide awake, running, always running. He watched in concern as Wufei limped to the door.  
“Where are you going?” Quatre asked, “We shouldn’t separate.”  
“For the record,” Wufei said in a sharp voice, “I don’t think it matters how many of us there are. Whether we’re alone or together, this thing can kill us and there’s nothing any of us can do about that. The reason for that is that we know next to nothing about this ghost. Rule number one of combat: know you’re enemy. We’re at war and something in this mansion has to tell us who and what this thing really is.”  
None of them could deny that Wufei was right, but Zechs seemed to be the only one who wanted to follow him out of the room.   
“So, where are we going?” Zechs asked as he helped Wufei down the hallway, his limp getting worse and worse.   
“The Master Bedroom,” Wufei responded, sounding like his mind was a mile off.  
“We can’t open it, we tried once,” Relena reminded him. Wufei shook his head.  
“We have to keep trying. There has to be something in there. The Master of this house probably kept _something_ , some clue we can use. If it still won’t open, we’ll keep looking. I’m not going to sit around until this thing decides to stop playing games and tear us all to shreds.”  
Heero watched his friends walk off towards the Master Bedroom, but hung back in the hallway. He didn’t know why he didn’t call out to them or tell them what he was going to do, but he hung back and kept silent as they disappeared into the darkness. He didn’t need a map to find the red door of Duo’s bedroom since it was so close to the Master Bedroom. He reasoned that his friends probably wouldn’t even realize he was missing before he caught up with them again. Still, he felt guilty leaving them behind. Wufei was right, it was useless sticking together, but what little comfort they could get out of their situation couldn’t be worthless. However, he felt no fear navigating through the house in the dark and he couldn’t figure out why. It was as though some deep part of himself knew that the ghost wouldn’t attack them, not now anyway. He was equally confused about how heavy his heart felt, opening that red door again.  
*****  
The bedroom was exactly the same as they had left it and it was something of a relief to Heero that nothing had changed. Just like before, he felt sick when he entered, like a strange sort of vertigo or nausea. A strange painful pressure attacked his chest as he took in the room with the light of his flashlight. He leaned down near the dresser to pick up one of the strewn, violet obis. It looked like the same one the little boy in his vision had worn and the ghost wore. He wondered if the reason why the room was such a mess was because the last time Duo had been here, there had been a struggle. His mind wandered to the cell hidden behind the walls and wondered if the little boy he had seen in his dream had ever been up there. The thought sent a shiver through him. That child had been so bright, so beautiful, he couldn’t bear the thought of the child or the older boy being chained up in that horrible place. He stood up, letting the obi fall through his fingers, and went through each drawer, collecting the journals as he went. He didn’t know exactly why he was doing it when he couldn’t read the old words, but it made him feel good to have a mission, no matter how useless. He had heard that the key to beating stress was keeping busy and it seemed right somehow. When he had all the old journals collected and stored in his back pack, he looked over at the lattice nervously. There was one more that he should get, the most important one, really. It was the only one where he could read any of Duo’s words, in a place that might have been where the boy had died, yet he really didn’t want to go back up there, especially alone. Wasn’t there some unwritten rule that the place where someone died was also where their ghost was the strongest? After everything that had happened, he was a bit afraid of the ghost getting any stronger. But, it felt like that journal, and those words he had read, were calling him. He shouldered his back pack, opened the lattice, and crawled through.   
*****  
The cell seemed even more horrible when he was by himself, absent from the warmth of his friends, cold and distant from the rest of the house. He crouched to enter the cell, taking a deep breath. He kneeled down to inspect the shackles he had only glanced at early in the day, though it seemed like weeks ago. They were indeed chained to the floor with not enough chain to do more than stand up and walk two feet. The inside of the shackles were stained dark with old blood. He shuddered and let it drop to the floor with a clang. He turned to retrieve the book and froze. Duo was sitting on the floor in front of him, his pale ankles chained in the shackles. He looked up at Heero with violet eyes brimming with tears. A lone tear trailed down Heero’s cheek. The oddest thing was that the kimono he was wearing was pure white, not a single drop of blood staining it.  
“Duo…” he murmured, “You have to help us.”  
He didn’t know why he asked the ghost for help when it was responsible for all of their problems, but he couldn’t believe that the crying boy before them would hurt them.  
“ _Please, help me. I don’t want to kill. Don’t make me kill. Please_ …” the boy’s voice was distorted, like the other ghost they had seen, but unlike that one, this voice was only filled with sorrow, not evil or malice. Suddenly, the spirit vanished as though it had never been there.  
‘ ‘Please help me’,’ Heero thought, ‘But what can I possibly do?’  
*****  
Wufei, Relena, and Quatre watched as Zechs and Trowa wailed on the Master Bedroom door, uselessly as it didn’t budge an inch. Quatre looked back down the hallway, nervously. Heero had disappeared and what scared him the most was the possibility that spirits hadn’t whisked him away, like in his dream, but that his friend had chosen to walk off on his own. Something was going on with Heero, something that, even with his abilities, he couldn’t possibly begin to understand. He wanted to hate Heero for it, for endangering himself and keeping secrets during a time when none of them could afford any. Still, he didn’t tell the others that the Japanese boy was missing, didn’t want any of them to know that there was something wrong. They were all like violin strings, ready to snap if things got any tighter and putting any suspicious light on one of their own would probably be the breaking point. At the very least, they would end up screaming at Heero about putting himself in harm’s way, but Wufei was right. It didn’t really matter if they were by themselves or together.  
 _“You’re all going to die here.”_  
Quatre shuddered. When had he started to worry about Heero? If he had to make a guess, it was when his parents had told him that Heero had been admitted to the hospital because of the car crash, but that still wasn’t quite it. He had been worried about his friend’s injuries, but it wasn’t until later that he had started to think that there was some darkness in Heero that was begging to break out. Maybe that was why the ghost was singling Duo out, because he had wished for death after his parents had died. Heero had never outright acted suicidal, it was just a feeling that Quatre had, that Heero’s mind was close to death. He had always been a little bit distant, as though he was in a high place that none of them could hope to reach, but after the accident, it was as though their friend was spread thin, nearly transparent to the rest of them. Heero, drunk at the time, had once told him that he felt more alive, more real, when he was dreaming than when he was awake. At the time, Quatre had thought it was just drunken nonsense, but he wasn’t so sure anymore. They were all so stressed, on the urge of breaking, but with Heero, it was hard to tell. It could be that he was just hiding his fear inside, silently, or… it could be that he wasn’t afraid at all. It could be that he was glad that his death was finally coming for him, or he was just so apathetic that he didn’t care. Quatre didn’t think that was true, or rather, he didn’t want to believe it. There were times when Heero seemed like the friend they had always known, and others where he was just so distant, it was actually terrifying to watch. He saw Trowa stop pushing at the door with a defeated stance and knew that they were all giving up. He hadn’t expected anything else, though it did pique his curiosity in wondering what was in that room.   
“So, you still can’t get it open?” Quatre jumped as Heero spoke from behind him. He whirled, feeling elated that his friend was alright, but still annoyed at what he had done.   
“Not without a battering ram, and even then…” Zechs said with a shake of his head. Wufei gave out a frustrated little snort and walked back down the hall, towards the stairs, Zechs following him like a lost puppy as the rest of them ran to catch up.   
*****  
Somewhere in between the stairs and stumbling into the workshop, Wufei’s leg had turned into a solid mass of stone. He could no longer limp with it, the pain and stiffness becoming unbearable, and he sagged to the floor, fortunately having enough grace left to make the move less shameful. It seemed like his body was constantly betraying him, just because of his mistakes. He was worthless in that respect. He kept making the same mistake over and over again, hoping that things would get better, that time would heal all of his wounds, but that was just a lie, he easily overestimated himself, thinking that he could turn his heart, his emotions, to stone, but they kept bubbling up and overwhelming him. He had no doubt that that was why he was seeing Meiran now, after so many years. His own guilt ridden, turbulent soul was going over her echo, her spirit, like some obsessed voyeur. He had known, for a very long time now, that he could never let her go. She was his world, just like she had been when she was alive and he was sure that she would be his death, as well.   
*****  
 _Meiran had been dead for three years and so much had changed in Wufei’s life. He and his father had moved to a different country, a different town, a different house. He had made new friends, gone to a new school. To the outward observer, it would appear his life had become fresh and new, but inside, the darkness still lurked. To him, everything was exactly the same. As long as Meiran was dead and far from him, it would always be the same. He wanted to be with her, wanted to see her more than anything he had ever felt before. Moving on, becoming whole again, seemed so completely impossible. He had known her for so long, seeing her beautiful face every day had become as natural as breathing, but now… there was this huge, horrible void inside of him that was eating away, always eating. It wasn’t just that it was too hard to pick up the pieces, he just didn’t want to. He couldn’t see the point in going on. Still, for three years, he suffered in silence, completely alone as father continued to think that he was doing fine. He wondered if he would ever forgive him for stealing him away from the only home he had ever known, his and Meiran’s home. He loved him, but deep down inside, he also secretly hated him. He supposed that if he couldn’t forgive himself, he wouldn’t forgive his father. How did people cope with this sort of thing, anyway? He felt like he was walking around without a soul. He couldn’t taste anything, couldn’t feel anything but loneliness and ache, and every time he felt his heart beat in his chest, it shocked him. He thought that this must be what hell was like, just standing still while the world passed you by, waiting for something that would never happen. Waiting for the one you loved to come back to you, knowing full well that you are so very, very alone, screaming and raving in the dark until you lost every drop of yourself. You become jaded, bitter, and so very angry. How could you not hate the rest of the world for coveting what you have lost? (5)_  
 _“Wufei, you haven’t told me anything about your classes yet,” his mother’s chipper voice gained his attention again. His coal black eyes met hers and for a moment, he hoped that she couldn’t see the darkness in them that he couldn’t quite hide. At the pretty smile on her familiar face, he felt a deep rage fill him. He didn’t want her to be happy, especially not to see him. He didn’t want to see anyone smiling ever again. How could she possibly be happy to visit him of all people? He, who had destroyed his future and happiness so swiftly, without a thought. He wanted to wipe that smile off her face with a swift slap. He ignored her, stirring his rice around in the bowl with his chopsticks as he and his parents ate their dinner. His mother was only visiting for a few days since she and his father were still in disagreement over his relocating Wufei to Japan, but he wished that she had never come. All she did was remind him of everything he wanted to forget, but was too scared to. Every time she opened her mouth, he felt a sharp pain in his chest. He wanted to go home, even if he couldn’t bear it._  
 _“’Fei,” his mother began and he couldn’t take anymore. He slammed his hands on the table and stood, vivid anger creating the first real life in his eyes for a very long time._  
 _“Why are you here, Mother?” he demanded. She looked at him with wide, shocked eyes._  
 _“Why didn’t you just stay away?!” he snarled, “What’s the point of you being here?! Do you think that I want you visiting me like this?! Why don’t you just stay in China and leave me in peace! You’re not making this any easier for anyone except yourself! And don’t call me ‘Fei’, don’t ever call me that again!”_  
 _The color drained from his mother’s face as he screamed at her. There was a part of him that knew he should feel badly about hurting her, but it was small and fading. He greatly preferred the feeling of rage to the ones of grief and emptiness. Anger he could release, little by little, but he realized now that his grief was something he would have to live with for the rest of his life. What scared him the most wasn’t his lack of guilt at venting his rage at his mother, but that one day, the anger would no longer come to home and he would only feel loneliness. But, until then, he reveled in the only strong emotion he had felt since Meiran’s death, taking the still warm porcelain bowl that held his rice from the table and throwing it against the wall. Seeing it shatter made him feel oddly better and he wished to do the same to the table they were sitting, but the sudden urge to just leave, to get out of the stifling house with his stifling parents was more overwhelming than his need for destruction. He rose quickly from his seat and stormed out of the kitchen, grabbing the keys to his father’s car on his way out, leaving without a single word to his parents._  
 _“Wufei, stop!” his father called after him, but he was only responded by the sound of the front door slamming shut in a brutal force._   
*****  
It had been a rainy night and visibility had been poor, so when Wufei had turned up in the hospital the next day in critical condition, his parents had assumed the obvious, in his anger, he had lost control of the car. At the time, he had realized just how pathetic he was as his mother sobbed at his bedside. He realized that, if he died, he would make his parents suffer, just like how Meiran had made him suffer. Knowing that sort of terrible pain first hand, how could he possibly give that pain to his family, the only family he had left? So, he had told them that it was just a horrible accident, that the rain had obscured his vision, only for a second. He told them that he was sorry, he didn’t want to argue anymore, he was just glad he was still alive. But… it had all been a lie. He had gone out that night with the intent of joining his love in the only way he knew how. He had left the house because he had needed to escape from memories and pretending to be just fine in front of his parents, but as soon as he had started the engine to his father’s car, he had known exactly what he was going to do. Yes, visibility had been poor, but he had seen the tree with perfect clarity. What he hadn’t seen was his own body’s desperate need to survive. Instead of dying, he had awoken in a white, sterile room with his mother’s tears soaking his bed sheets. In that moment, he had seen things better than he had for a very long time. Meiran would have hated him for what he had become and he had clung to that belief ever since the accident to try to make the most out of his life. The world was still dull and tasteless compared to what it had been like when she was alive and every day was painful, the need to just end the hollowness in his chest almost like a compulsion, or an addiction, but he had fought and fought and for the first time, he felt like he was finally moving forward from his betrothed’s death.   
“Are you alright?” Zechs asked as he watched Wufei sit down heavily and stiffly, his leg making the move awkward. Wufei looked up at him with hollow black eyes, still partially caught in his memories and Zechs struggled to find his breath at the haunting look. But, like it had never been there, the Chinese boy schooled his expression quickly.  
“I’m fine,” he murmured. He looked down at his hands, suddenly feeling a stinging pain. It was another cut, worse than the others, starting to drip blood down his arm. He saw that the others were sitting down in the room, looking distant and forlorn, but he didn’t blame them. Zechs sat down next to him and brushed his long, silvery hair away from his neck, showing a long cut trailing from the back of his neck to the side, blood streaming down his shirt.  
“They’re getting worse,” the taller man said in a low voice, so the others couldn’t hear, “If they keep getting deeper like this… we might bleed to death. All we have is a very basic first aid kit.”  
“And all of us have them, all of us except Heero?” Wufei asked, looking over at his Japanese friend briefly, who was sitting near Quatre, looking through what looked like an old leather book. Zechs followed his stare, also looking away quickly.  
“Yes,” he said cautiously. The thought had occurred to him, too, how Heero had only gotten one cut and that was from shattered glass. He didn’t want to dwell on that for very long, though. That was how these things started, the doubt, the paranoia… but it was still so odd, he just didn’t want to start doubting a friend when they were all they had to rely on.   
“What do you think it means?” he asked Wufei, but the younger boy just shook his head.  
“I don’t know,” he admitted, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of suspicion as he thought about the cuts, and Heero’s immunity to them.  
*****  
Quatre watched Heero flipping through Duo’s old journals as he leaned heavily against Trowa’s arm. He wanted to ask how Heero had gotten the journals, but he already knew. That was what Heero had been doing when he had left their side for only a few minutes. It made him feel slightly better knowing what Heero had been doing, even if he still couldn’t understand it. There was a lot that he didn’t understand in this place and he was starting to accept those things as what they were. At least he hadn’t risked his life just for the sheer thrill of it, though he never would have believed Heero to be the type. Trowa was asleep, sitting against the wall. Quatre couldn’t understand how he could just fall asleep like that, but he knew how tired he was. They were all tired, more so than they should be. They had slept well, but human beings weren’t meant to live like this, in constant fear and darkness, time eroding away into nothing. Sleep was useless, it only brought terrible dreams. Dreams that could be something more… something worse.   
“What did you dream about?” Quatre’s question came out harsher than he had intended, but Heero seemed undaunted, only briefly looking up at him, slightly annoyed to be interrupted from his reading.   
“Nothing,” he lied, “I didn’t dream at all.”  
It was a selfish reason, but Heero didn’t want to tell Quatre or any of his friends about his dream of a younger, happier Duo. He felt jealous of the thought of anyone else knowing, like a petulant child that was unwilling to share his toys. It didn’t matter anyway. Dreams weren’t going to save them.   
Quatre gave his friend a piercing look. They had known each other for too long to not realize when the other was lying. He thought that he should press it, demand to know what Heero had dreamed about, but he knew how stupid and useless that would be. It would cause a rift between them, verbally calling Heero a liar and trying to force him to say something he obviously didn’t want to tell. Instead, he let the issue drop, keeping silent as he felt Trowa’s warmth against his arm. Heero quickly returned to flipping through the pages of the old journal. Quatre carefully watched the pages, but saw little difference from when they had last looked through them, the pages stiff and yellow, the old ink faded and obscured, impossible to read. He watched as Heero opened the last of the journals, and remembered the last page, the only message they could read, with a heavy heart.  
 _“It is so lonely here. I can hear the wind moving downstairs. It will not even reach me. I am truly alone…_  
 _… I know that it is inevitable, but I am afraid to die.”_  
Sitting on the cold tatami, not knowing when his life would end, in a few seconds or a few days, Quatre could feel the boy’s fear strongly and it made his heart feel like it was being ripped apart. To know that you were going to die and that there was absolutely nothing you could do about it… even they had some tiny spark of hope that they would be rescued, however fleeting, but this boy, Duo, he had accepted his death as something… ‘inevitable’. How horrible was that? To die so young, probably all alone. What Quatre couldn’t let go of was why, if there had been any reason, that Duo had lost his life. From his words, it had sounded like premeditated murder, or, considering how old the journals looked, even ritualistic murder. He knew it was a different country, with different beliefs, but the thought of anyone killing someone so young, for whatever reason, sickened him.   
Heero stilled on the last page of the journal, where the message had been and Quatre caught his wide eyed, shocked expression easily. The message was still there, written in careful script, but much clearer, as though it had only been written a few years ago. What was even more incredible than that was the rest of the page, which had, somehow, become more legible since they had last seen it.  
 _“I recall being here when I was much younger. Father brought me up here, just like he did this morning, and locked me in this dismal cage, only, this time, you can’t stop it. Not anymore. It has not been so long since Father and the other priests woke me and chained me up here, but I already miss the sun. I miss walking with you in the courtyard, though it has only been a few days since our last stroll. It is so lonely here. I can hear the wind moving downstairs. It will not even reach me. I am truly alone_  
 _Are you waiting for them to come for you, too? Or, have they lied to me and have denied me the last good thing in my life? There is a dark part of me that wishes that Father and Mother are crying for what they are about to do. I hate this part of myself. I do not wish for them to hurt. I understand, this must be done, but I am so afraid. I just want to see you one last time, can I not have that one, small thing? But, truthfully, is it so small? If I die soon, keeping your face close to my heart, knowing I said goodbye properly, I think I could be happy. Even in darkness, and my own palpable fear, as long as you can live, I will be happy. I can tell myself these things, and yet, there is that dark part in me that threatens to turn that fear into hate. But, I will never hate you, or Mother and Father, if that were to happen… I would no longer be myself._  
 _I know that it is inevitable, but I am afraid to die. I miss the smell of the cherry blossoms and the sight of your beautiful eyes. That scares me the most, knowing I will spend my eternity without those things, in the dark, in a place so lonely and cold, it will surely drive me mad. The thought that I will be saving all of you is no longer such a comfort to me in this fear. It should be, it was when I was a child, but now… I am so selfish and I hate myself for that._  
 _Heero, I know it is difficult, believe me, I do know, but… if I must die, and we can no longer be together, please, promise me this…_  
 _Live. Live and have a wonderful life. Do not blame yourself, or my parents. No matter what happens… I will always love you. If such a thing is possible, I will be waiting for you. I’ll wait all eternities, even to the end of this existence. I love you._  
End Chapter 2  
Man, that took forever to write. I know the end of this chapter probably raised a few eyebrows, and I will be exploring it later in the next chapter.   
(1) My cousin’s daughter does this -_- when they go to these festivals and she wears her kimono, she hides her mice in the obi so she can play with them. I might be a little bit biased, but I think it’s adorable. For those of you who don’t know what an obi is, it’s the colorful, wide tie around the waist of the kimono. I don’t know if you can use the same word for the tie of the yukata, which is a lighter kimono with less layers, used during the summer, but in this case, I’m going to use it for both. To clarify, Duo’s Heero wears a male yukata, but Duo’s kimono is a mix between the female kimono and the male one, not as tight and heavy as the female’s, but more elegant than the male’s.   
(2) Means ‘Master’, this will make sense when more of Duo’s back story is revealed. It is sufficient to say that this particular ‘Heero’, Duo’s best friend, sees Duo as higher status than him and addresses him as such.   
(3) Means ‘beloved friend’ or ‘best friend’. Duo means it partially in teasing because Heero used a formal title for him.  
(4) If I was a lazy bitch, I’d end the entire story here. Heero and Relena go missing and everyone else dies, THE END! But, that wouldn’t make much sense and would leave too many questions, and I’m enjoying myself just a little bit too much, so on with the story!  
(5) This was meant to be pretty ironic because it shows, a little bit, of what made Duo into the evil spirit. I had hoped that many people would get that instinctually, but I realize now that some would have to read the entire fic twice to get it. Hint: there are in fact many, many ironic things like this in the fic that you might not pick up on unless you know exactly what Duo’s past is. Yeah, I know it’s annoying, but I love seeing it in horror.   
  



	5. Chapter 3: Dolls Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Odin takes shelter in the mansion after a hit gone bad and comes face to face with a much more efficient, and vicious, killer than himself.

Beyond the Looking Glass  
  
Chapter 3: Dolls  
  
Author’s Note: This chapter will give brief insights into Duo’s past and current ghostly character, put our living characters into further jeopardy, and hopefully, I’ll have freaked people out a bit more. I’m actually shocked that so many people have reviewed and e-mailed saying that this fic has scared them. It’s always nice knowing that you’ve hit your target and I hope that everyone’s enjoying it. As always, I promise no happy endings, just a disturbing, questionable journey, and a few good scares. Maybe some will live, but at least one main character will die. This is a horror story, after all. The title ‘dolls’ is a throwback to one of my oldest fears. Yes, even as a young girl, dolls terrified me. They still do. Same thing with clowns. How anyone can find these things ‘cute’ or ‘fun’, I have no idea. I blame my mother and her tendency to put creepy ass dolls in my room when I was little.    
  
Also, I’m well aware that the ‘intro’ is too freakin’ long. Blame Odin. He just wouldn’t shut the hell up.   
  
  
  
  
“What is a ghost? A tragedy doomed to repeat itself time and again? An instance of pain, perhaps. Something dead which still seems to be alive. An emotion suspended in time. Like a blurred photograph. Like an insect trapped in amber… A ghost… That’s what I am.”  
  
~The Devil’s Backbone  
  
  
  
    September 3, 2023  
  
  
    It was a good thing that Odin Lowe had spent his entire life in loneliness or the long, desolate trek through rural Japan to a hopeful salvation would have driven him half mad. If there was one thing he had always been good at, even as a child, was hiding, though he had never had anyone trying to find him until he had taken up this job. There was something woefully lonely about hiding when no one cared enough, or hated enough, to want to find you, but still, he had been good at it. Such a skill in his line of work was invaluable. You could shoot a target from a seemingly impossible distance, be as quiet as an owl in the depths of night, or have impenetrable nerves of steel, but none of those things mattered if you couldn’t hide yourself at the end of it all.  
    It was because of this skill, and only this skill, that had still seen Odin alive after twenty years of living as an assassin. Men in Odin’s trade called themselves ‘rogue mercenaries’ and ‘lone wolves’, but they weren’t anything more than murderers for hire. Odin was well aware of this fact and wasn’t ashamed of his line of work. You couldn’t be in this line of work for twenty years and hate yourself, you wouldn’t last. And yet, in a way, Odin was disgusted in himself. He had regrets like any man, but his regrets were heavier than most and weighed on him.  
    Odin’s job was simple. Someone would pay for his time, give him a name, and he would find that person, or persons in some cases, and take them out as efficiently and silently as possible. The job left no room for grey areas, it was as black and white as possible, kill or don’t kill, and for most of his career, that had suited him just fine. Another assassin had even told him that they were a lot like whores. They got paid, privately, to do a dishonest service, and at the end of the day, if you could look at yourself in the mirror, you knew you’d last in the business. If you couldn’t, you might as well just quit before you got yourself killed. Odin had hated the similarity, but he couldn’t deny the truth of it.   
    Odin wasn’t like other assassins who simply didn’t care about the people he killed, he wasn’t exactly a bleeding heart, either, but he wasn’t apathetic. He was well aware that his line of work was ‘wrong’, but as wrong as it was, he was _good_ at it. People got into this business for all sorts of reasons. Some were sociopaths, they didn’t care about life and death, right and wrong, they found some sort of pleasure in murder and chaos. Some were desperate for money and chose to believe that the people they killed were evil, that what the did had some meaning, but Odin knew that that was an illusion, a poorly constructed lie. He had had his fair share of men that probably deserved to be wiped off the earth, but also quite a few innocents. Children of ambassadors, rich old ladies… he couldn’t lie to himself and say that these people deserved it.  
    Other assassins, on the other hand, had chosen to do it because of something terrible that had happened in their pasts. They were consumed by rage and clung to the violence and death like a security blanket. Odin had strived to steer clear of these individuals because they were reckless and irrational, killing not for money, but for some sort of twisted sense of vengeance, or just because it made them feel good. For these people, killing was easy, and Odin never wanted it to be easy. Killing was a job, but he didn’t want to lose his humanity just because of a job. Even if he was good at it.  
    Perhaps it was for that reason that he had grown tired of it in these last few years. He was not haunted by the people he had killed, rather, he was haunted by how good he had gotten at killing, how easy it had become. It had become almost… boring, which was a disturbing concept to him. He didn’t want to be a killer. A man with a job to do, yes, even a man with a job that he was good at, illegal or not. But once it became so easy that the money didn’t even excite him anymore, just the prospect, the pride of that easiness, it was only a small step to doing it for free. Killing might be his calling, it certainly seemed so with how frequently he was asked for, and how he had never been caught, but his comfort in it would make him a murderer, something, he felt, he was too smart to fall into. Murderers got caught, because they liked the killing too much to stop. If there was one group of people that disgusted him, it would be addicts.   
    So, he felt that he had a choice. He could either just put himself up for retirement, find some other easy job that would bore him enough he could never truly love it, or he could keep going until that line between a job and an obsession was completely blurred beyond repair. It seemed like fate had been working with him in this sense on his last job. He had just been contemplating his choices when he had been contacted to kill a certain ambassador who was taking a vacation in Japan.  
    A Russian national, Odin seldom ever strayed far from his homeland, but had been confident in both his Japanese and his ability to hide amongst a crowd. However, in this case, his skills had failed him. With his noticeable height and blonde hair, Odin had been spotted and recognized easily, ending with him being shot in the shoulder and pursued heavily, though not before he had made his own shot, finishing the job. It was a small victory, though, with Japanese Defense Forces and international police chasing him through the continent like hungry dogs after an elusive bit of raw meat. Still, being on the run had given him the excuse to stay out of Russia and make him escape his old life, if he could only find a place that the police wouldn’t find him, he could settle down for awhile. Even if it was in Japan, and he stood out like a sore thumb here.  
    Keeping to the back roads had been ridiculously easily. Japan was a great place to hide in, especially the more rural villages that had temples and shrines that had abandoned long ago, even before the third World War had demolished so many cities around the globe. In the past, Odin had wished he had been old enough to have seen the war, it would have made hiding so much easier. The other good thing about these small towns and villages was the people’s distrust of strangers, both native Japanese and foreigners. To these people, if you had not been born in their town, you were as foreign as a tall white man, even if you look, acted, and spoke like Japanese. Because of this, his procuring of medical supplies and directions became quick and easy, the people he asked just wanting to get rid of him, because he was different, but wasn’t causing any trouble. The police, however, were given little information, because they symbolized something sinister to the small town people.   
    It was four days since the failed job that Odin found himself in the strange town of Nasue. Despite his holing up in dirty rooms and being constantly on the move, Odin’s bullet wound was healing, though slowly, and did not hurt him very much. Being on the run from the ‘law’ really only meant that he was isolated from everyone. He was not overly bothered by the prospect of being caught and sent to jail, but he could speak to no one, could hardly even walk through a crowd, since he was so different looking. It was strange how that made him feel. He had spent his whole life in loneliness, yet now, when he entered Nasue, he was suddenly struck with this deep feeling of depression, having not a single person he could rely on or converse with. What was even stranger was that Nasue, which was similar to all the other towns, seemed lonelier than all the others.  
    The people here looked at him with fear, not simply distrust, but actual _fear_ , as though they had secrets to tell, secrets that he was a part of and was only there to make things worse. He wondered if it was because he was a stranger to the town, simply passing through as seldom did, or because he was Russian and not Asian. When he tried to ask directions, no one would respond to him, only hurrying away. He wondered if that had anything to do with his blood-stained shirt. His bullet wound had started to bleed a little again once he had entered the town, but he couldn’t worry about it until he had some sort of shelter. Odin quickly realized that no one was going to grant a bloodied stranger like him refuge and, oddly, there were no temples in this town, though the old woman made the same signs at him that others had in different towns, so he knew that they all had some sort of religion.   
    It seemed to get darker quicker here, though that was silly, Odin knew, it was not winter quite yet. By the time the sun had set, he had long surrendered the possibility of finding a motel or a kind stranger who could put him up for the night. Nasue, being a backwater town, was too far away from any other city for him to give up on it, and it was too dark for him to try to find some other place. He didn’t have any camping equipment, which was unusual for him. He had always been meticulous, even as a child, which was a reason why the exacting nature, the perfection behind the job of being an assassin, had called to him. Camping was the same way, but he had hardly the time or accessibility to find gear for it. Still, it seemed like his only solution was to sleep in the woods, which suited him. Sleeping out in the wilderness that surrounded the town like a feral blanket would be safer for him than being near people.  
    As Odin started to walk towards the wilder, hillier side of town, the only supplies with him a blanket, a bit of food and water, and a med kit, all freshly stolen, plus the guns he had had on him and the hunting knife he always carried, he realized that he was being followed by a group of children. There were four of them, and though they were several feet away, keeping a great distance between themselves and him, it was obvious that they were trailing him as he walked up an uneven path that trailed up the hill. They were watching him with terrified eyes, but refused to back off. They whispered to each other occasionally, but Odin could not hear them over the harsh, fall wind. The four of them seemed indecisive as well as fearful and the thought that they had come to bully him seemed ridiculous, but Odin could not think of another reason for scared children to be following him so resolutely.  
    Odin paused on the trail as the children continued to follow him, but hesitated more and more the higher they went, as though they knew they shouldn’t be up here. He contemplated throwing rocks at them, not liking how their presence made the back of his neck prickle with the need to ‘take care’ of his stalkers, but the last thing he needed were a bunch of pissed off parents coming after him. He turned back around and continued to walk, trying to ignore the children.   
    The wooden path was strange to him. It was clearly not kept up by the village, weeds and wild flowers and rocks scattered along the path, yet it had not completely taken to wild woods. There were no tire tracks, but also no grass, as though both people and nature knew to keep away from it. Huge trees blocked out the night sky and a strong wind moved through them, making eerie sounds as it shook the trees and the wild, untamed grass that grew on the edges of the path, but not on it. In the trees, no birds or bats flew. There weren’t even any mosquitoes or fireflies, which was very odd to Odin, but he couldn’t put his finger on why it seemed so strange. He only knew that it made him on edge.   
    Odin glanced behind him and saw that the children had left him, no doubt running home to dinner, or out of fear of getting lost out in the woods. He snorted to himself. He had little experience with people in general, let alone children, and their absence made him feel better, yet at the same time, nervous, still something that he couldn’t quite explain to himself. He put it out of his mind, but the disturbing feelings remained and he continued to walk up the long, curving path, feeling like he was walking into the heart of the dark woods.   
    Despite this feeling, Odin saw in awe, when he reached the peak of the hill, the trees disappeared, giving way to flat land. Even more incredible than the lack of forest that he had been expecting was the enormous mansion sitting there were deep woods should have stood. There was something chilling about the place just being there, an elaborate house in the middle of the wild, miles from the town. The place was clearly ancient, leaving Odin with the thought that it may have been here long before the town ever had. It seemed to have been abandoned for a very long time and Odin wondered how it was even still standing so perfectly and not a mess of rotted wood, swept away from centuries of wind and wear and rain. But it was shelter, and that was all that mattered now.  
    It was a dismal, windy autumn night, but when Odin slipped through the huge gate that greeted him, he saw with a strong feeling of _wrong_ that the cherry tree in the large front yard was in tact. On the grassy ground, not a single pink petal lay, as though the wind could not touch the innards of the yard and mansion. In the front yard, the plants were growing uncontrolled, even the pretty tree was completely wild, but the biggest testament to the place’s abandonment and neglect were the remains of a once upon a time rock garden that had been strewn about violently, as though it had been done by a child in the middle of a temper.   
    Odin’s first instinct was to try to push the door closed, his analytical mind supplying that, once such a door was locked, it would take nothing less than a bomb or raging fire to get through it again, even a battering ram couldn’t do it in. However, that same analytical part of him told him that closing it all on his own was impossible. The door was massive, though it should have been splintered and rotten, it looked just solid and heavy and perfect, as though it had been constructed a short few days ago instead of centuries. Also, something else that seemed to prick at his mind as something wrong or off, was how the door was open. The last occupants of the house should have shut the door fully, to keep the villagers from looting or squatting in the massive home, or, if they had been so careless, the doors should have been flung fully open, as an image of welcome or, in later years, for cars to pass through. And yet, the door was open enough only for one person to pass through, as though the person that had left it that way to keep cars and such out. The whole thing just seemed… strange to his perceptive eye.   
    Odin tried to shake off the odd feelings. He had been around long enough to believe, no, know, that things like spirits, the supernatural, and anything of any sort of unnatural nature weren’t real. The only ghosts existed in the human mind. The house was undeniably creepy, but that was only because he was so anxious and tired. When he woke in the morning, it would seem less so. Still, as he approached the front entrance, there was something, deep down in his stomach, demanding that he turn around and find a place in the woods to camp out. No, not even the woods near him, but as close to the town as can be, because even the dark woods up here, on the hill, made his insides squirm.   
    The blonde assassin tried the door to the mansion and found it unlocked, though the old door took some force to open and when it did, it creaked and groaned like an old man. Immediately, Odin dug out his flashlight from his pack and walked into the house. He shivered as he walked into the entrance, there was an incredible chill in here, even worse than outside, and he reasoned that it was because it was fall and there was surely no heat source in the entire house, but even the cold felt wrong. There were lattice screens blocking in certain hallways past the foyer and he had to take a step up to get level with the seemingly maze-like paths. The flashlight in his hand was like the ones policemen or security guards used, the base was long and the light was powerful, yet the light couldn’t penetrate the darkness of the long hallways, as though he were trying to see into utter nothingness. When he shone it on the screens, it created shadows that were so vivid, so full of detail, they looked like people, standing and watching, yet they were suspended, as though they had no feet at all, not hanging, but… stuck.  
    Odin, at the sight of those shadows, felt a sharp spike of fear go through him and quickly flicked the flashlight away, the fear growing as he could no longer see the shadows, then illuminated the screens once more, only this time, the shadows were gone and the light showed him nothing. He laughed at himself, flinching at how hollow and dead the large, wooden structure made his voice sound. His grandmother had often told him ghost stories as a child, including the old belief that ghosts were spirits who wandered, but had no feet. That was what this was, his overactive, tired imagination, remembering those stories and painting his anxiety into reality, but it was nothing more than shadows and the eeriness of this place. Odin ignored the fact that he had hid in all sorts of places like this one in the past, but never before had he felt so ill at ease, like he was being sucked into a deep, dark hole that he could never claw his way out of.   
    The blue-eyed man, still trying to deny such strange, disturbing thoughts, was already formulating a plan as he braved one of the long, dark hallways. He was a man that always needed planning, he would be lost without some sort of organization. First, he would need to find a suitable room, where he would have supper and sleep. In the morning, he would go back into town and find out if the police had followed him here. If they had, he would hide in the mansion longer and maybe they would move on. If they hadn’t, he would leave and try to find an airport. It was clear to him that he could never fade away into a crowd in this city. He couldn’t go back to Russia, either, they would be expecting that. America, or perhaps England, these were his best chances. If only he could escape Japan without being caught.   
    Suddenly, as he walked towards one of the first rooms he saw, Odin heard a sharp creaking from behind him, as though someone was walking from the screen to the other side of the foyer. In less than a second, Odin was turning to face the sound, a gun in his hand, cocked and ready to fire at the intruder. The flashlight made the shadows arch like long claws on the old wood, but that was all that was there. He chuckled again at himself. There were no such things as ghosts. If there were, he would be haunted every second ever since he had killed his first mark. He heard the floorboards creak loudly above his head, dust falling onto his head. He shook his hand through his hair, shaking away the dust. The creaking only further convinced him that the strangeness was all in his head.   
    This house was old and probably filled with all sorts of gaps for the wind to move through. He was paranoid of the tail that he was sure would follow him all the way to this town, so it wasn’t such a leap to think it was all in his head. However, hearing those creaks and groans of the old wood only furthered that paranoia. He had survived so far by being several steps ahead of his pursuers and staying to the shadows. Remembering those kids following him earlier, he now feared that just hiding up here wasn’t enough.   
    Children didn’t distrust like their parents did, but they did fear. If a cop asked one of those kids about the strange blonde man, they would be more willing to speak to them out of fear for authority, or maybe a small bribe. The old house was a perfect hiding place for him because those small, creeping sounds would hide any noise he might make and the old floorboards would easily tell him if someone came into the house. He just needed to find a hiding place that no sane person would look in. He scrapped the first floor entirely. That was too obvious, the first place that anyone would look. Most people who feared for their lives wouldn’t brave the second floor of an ancient place, whose structure might not be stable.  
    He continued to walk down the long hallway, ignoring other side hallways and inviting, open doors. He ignored the way the shadows lurched in front of him, or the movements in the corner of his eyes from behind him. It almost made him mad, fighting against his instincts to shoot at anything threatening. It was all in his head, he told himself. There was nothing in this old place besides a lot of dust. As he walked, he heard more strange noises coming from the second floor. Heavy creaking and constant scratching. Rats, he told himself. This place had to be infested with them. Very, very big rats. He ignored the doubt in him that told him that the scratching couldn’t be from little, scrambling paws. It sounded like human nails against woods, as though someone had been locked away in the walls and was trying, frantically, to get out.   
    Odin shuddered a little. The thought of cat-sized rats running around upstairs was more chilling to him than someone trapped in the house with him. He hated rats. He _loathed_ them. Their naked, hairless tails, beady black eyes, their squeaking voices which sounded like squealing babies, their square, tiny teeth… He had been bitten by one, just once. It had been early on in his assassin career. He had been hiding out after a hit in a condemned factory. He remembered the feeling of those little, square teeth sinking into his flesh, feeling like sharp wood chips, but warm and diseased. The rat had been large and black, hideous looking. Since then, he had hated the little monsters, how they had no fear of humans like so many other animals did, climbing into his things and sometimes, even his clothes, searching for food. The only thing he hated more was spiders.  
    Odin finally came upon a long staircase leading up, not looking very sturdy at all, but he started up it anyway. It creaked loudly, but didn’t shift, to his surprise. That was old age workmanship, he supposed. Nowadays, everything only last a few years, yet there were places like this that were still standing after all these centuries. The upstairs was, with the exception of structure and design, exactly the same as the upstairs. There were different hallways and different doors, but the feeling of the place remained. It was eerily quiet and still, a pervasive smell of old age and nothingness. It was as though time had stopped and life itself was rotting. It made it hard to breathe, as though Odin had entered an ancient tomb and his mere presence was a blasphemy.   
    The staircase traveled above the second floor to a third and Odin had to wonder how many floors this house had. Remembering the view he had gotten, looking up at the mansion from outside, he felt chilled to think the house could easily be four or five levels high, not including a basement. He continued up the staircase, thinking that the higher up he went, the better a hiding spot he would find, and the less his pursuers would likely follow him. He supposed to any other person, it would seem silly, but even the smallest details could save his life. Like the second and first floor, the third floor was built like a labyrinth.  
    Just standing there on the landing next to the staircase, could see that there were hundreds of doors, alcoves, hallways, and side hallways. It was like stepping out into a microcosm. He chose a hallway at random, the only way he _could_ choose. There were no windows, not even a shred of light, and the beam from his powerful flashlight seemed so pathetic, as though the shadows were laughing in disdain at him. He idly wished that he had a map for this massive place, as a small, childish part of himself briefly cried out about getting lost. It wouldn’t be very hard to get lost in a place like this, but the mansion was old and made of wood, how difficult could it be to break down a wall or window?   
    Odin continued to walk forward, as slowly as he was willing to, keeping his flashlight’s beam trained on the floor in front of him. An old place like this was a death trap of loose floor boards and rotten wood. If he fell from this far up, he would no longer have to worry about the police or fellow assassins. He walked for what seemed like hours, but for some inexplicable reason, there were no doors in this hallway.   
    It had to lead to somewhere and he forced himself to believe it was another trick of his mind, that the lack of light made it impossible to tell how long he had really been walking for, even as that childish part of himself that remembered old ghost stories and superstitions clung to the idea that he would be walking forever, down this dark, silent hallway. If he turned back, it would be the same. He would never find that staircase again, or another hallway. He would be suck on this straight path for all of eternity, as the world passed him by. The adult part of him scoffed at the silliness of such ideas, but the darkness was a powerful thing and his inability to tell time was chilling him.  
    Immersed in his thoughts and self doubts, Odin almost fell as his foot hit empty space and the flashlight’s beam met with what looked like another staircase. He grabbed onto the railing to stop from tripping and thought, in irritation and worry, that he really _was_ lost, that he had someone gone in a giant circle and he was back at the staircase he had gone up before. A quick glance down told him otherwise. His flashlight couldn’t pick up much, but he should have been able to see something of the second floor when he looked down. Instead, he saw nothing, just blackness and more of the staircase. Also, the area between the stairs and the walls was narrow, looking more like a narrow pit or an elevator shaft. Again, he felt the dryness, the silent void. Not even the slightest of air currents hit him as he looked down over the railing.  
    He should have doubled back and found a room to hide in, though common sense told him he didn’t know how long that would take. These stairs might lead him to a better hiding space, or just the second or first floor again. His curiosity won over his sense of caution and he dug into his pocket for a piece of change, dropping it down into the black pit below. He waited. And waited. He strained his ears for a noise of any kind, though he didn’t really need to. He would be able to hear a mouse breathe in this unnatural silence. He didn’t even realize that he had stopped hearing the creaking of boards except for the ones under his own feet, or the scratching.   
    Odin heard the sharp sound of the change hitting something solid. It was a long drop, two floor at least. The staircase suddenly struck him as a kind of cave, the blackness below him like a void, or maybe an old well, devoid of water and sound and life. Something gripped his heart at the thought of going down there, a little voice inside screaming at him to turn around and find the entrance on the first floor, to camp out in the woods if he had to, but to not go down there. Another part of him screamed at him to do it, to go down. To take the plunge into something threatening, just for the sheer joy of it. He didn’t know if that was the assassin in him, the thing that made him kill and take risks day after day, or if something was beckoning him, that thing that haunted every kid that climbed a tall tree. They knew that they shouldn’t jump, that they could easily break their legs, yet they couldn’t deny the urge to fall.  
   _‘There’s something down there.’_   
    The thought came to him like an electric shock and his eyes strained downwards, trying to give some fact to that random thought, though he still couldn’t see anything. He snorted at his own foolishness. There wasn’t anything down there, in the dark, just more of the house. Still, he should keep moving forward, hadn’t that always been his way of doing things? Odin took a step down, testing the stairs. They creaked, sounding like joints popping into place, but didn’t break. He took each step slowly, not sure if the old staircase would really hold his weight, but he continued to walk.   
    The staircase was like the hallway, traveling downwards, almost never-ending. He counted each step patiently, measuring which floor he would be on as he quickly realized that the staircase didn’t meet a floor when it should. As he passed by what should have been the second floor, he wondered where the stairs would lead. Some secret place? The other side of the house? Or perhaps this was a disposal of sorts. He didn’t know how people disposed of waste back when this house was built and it seemed so strange to have a staircase like this, one that passed by floors. He went down and down, until he reached what should have been the first floor, and met with the end of the staircase.  
    No, not really the end of it, Odin realized, as he shone his light downwards again. The planks of the stairs were collapsed, but he clearly saw, several feet forward and down, more stairs. It was almost like something had fallen from a great height and had crashed through the stairs, creating this great gap. He couldn’t see the true bottom of the staircase, but logic told him that it had to end near the first floor. The hole between the stairs spurred him on. No sane man would take such a leap and fall to the other side of the stairs, not knowing how deep the fall was, or if those stairs were intact. He was no sane man, however, and knew that he could reach the other side safely, if he was very careful.   
    Odin lowered himself down, gripping the last stair with his hands until he was hanging in midair, his flashlight tucked in his belt-loop, the light streaming down into still blackness. It was unnerving, just hanging there, unable to focus that singular beam of light, the only one that he had, where he wanted it: the steps below. He had to aim using mostly memory and what little bit that light showed him. Hanging there, he suddenly felt like a worm on a hook, just waiting for something big and powerful, something with rows of sharp, pointy teeth to swallow him up. Or snatch him out of the air, like a large bat would an insect. That image made him shudder. This place had somehow managed to strip away the confident assassin and expose his weaker points more efficiently than a prison guard or expert torturer.   
    He was a bad ass, he told himself. He had a glock tucked in the back of his pants and his hands were drenched in the blood of hundreds of people, many of them fellow bad asses. He had killed mafia bosses, politicians, and serial killers alike. He was untouchable. Some shadows couldn’t change that.   
    His eyes strayed down to the blackness below and all those comforting thoughts crumbled, leaving his heart quaking with a fear that he couldn’t even put a name to. A fear he had only felt once, as a child, lying in bed one hot summer’s night, freshly woken to find a large, fat, black spider crawling up his naked chest towards his face. He had been frozen then, as he was now, looking at uncertainty, mindless in the face of it, and not even sure why. He gritted his teeth and steeled his nerves. He was Odin Lowe, a man, not a child, and he had a job to do. He swung his body back and forth, then dropped into the blackness below.      
    He almost yelled out, childishly, in relief as his feet met something solid, instead of just feet upon feet of open air. His heart beat wildly and, if he had been just a little bit older, he would have worried about a heart attack. His fall was jarring and he stumbled back down to the next step at the momentum, but quickly regained his balance. Something shifted under his feet and fear flared inside of him, trying to remember how heavy he was. His imagination, suddenly overreactive, tried to do an equation. Odin's weight plus rotten wood equals very messy death. It painted a picture of him splattered on the ground below with his pursuers looking down at his mangled body, laughing at such a lame death for a once great assassin.   
    The stairs under him groaned loudly and he could feel the wall to his right shift as well, just slightly. Dust from somewhere above him fell in his hair, but the stairs didn't beak. He breathed in relief again. Maybe, after this, he should join the circus, he thought in amusement. He felt something strange move down his face, but concluded that it was just more dust at the ticklish, light feeling. He swiped at it with his hand. The movement moved up his hand, to his wrist. He paused, his hazel eyes widening in the dark, realizing that the movement was vaguely familiar to him. He suddenly felt very cold and very still, holding his hand out in front of him and grabbing his flashlight with the other.   
    Odin yelled loudly as the flashlight showed him a large spider slowly crawling up his arm. He batted it off frantically, revulsion seizing him. He felt more movement down his face and he panicked. There were more on him. With a scream that, moments later, he would think was just frustration, he ruffled his hair, pulling at it and sending sparks of pain through his scalp that he barely realized through his fear. Dozens of spiders fell from his blonde hair, each of them fat and black. Some of them fell on his leg and he backed up quickly, brushing them off, and forgot that he wasn't on flat ground. He fell backwards, quickly losing his footing, but the panic from the spiders was greater than his fear of breaking his neck at that moment and he didn't try to break his fall as he fell off the side of the steps, no railing to stop him.   
    His head slammed into solid wood and he saw a bright light in his vision, tinged red. It quickly dissipated, followed by a sharp pain. He heard the heavy sound of his metal flashlight hitting the same wood he had and felt a fear as sharp as his fear of the spiders, not that he had broken something in his fall, but that the flashlight would go out, leaving him in total darkness. As he lay there, he wondered at that fear. He wasn't afraid of the dark, never had been. Even if the light went out, he just had to find another source of it. There had to be a window somewhere, right? And yet, the thought of darkness terrified him like it never had, as though that fear was coming from somewhere else, some alien invader in his head.   
    Then again, he thought, he had no idea where he had fallen and getting lost in this place would not be a good thing, so light was invaluable. And then there were the spiders... without the flashlight, he wouldn't be able to see them... Odin jumped to his feet, grabbing the still operational flashlight and looking around frantically. They should be all over him by now... scuttling around on the floor, all fat and black and terrible looking, but there was nothing. Had they scurried back to some dark corner? No, he should be able to see at least one of them, but all he saw was a flat, wooden floor. He touched the back of his aching head and winced as he felt hot, wet blood. Not  enough to worry him, but enough to start considering a very mild concussion.   
    Had the spiders just been in his head? His fear of the fall making him see and feel things? He didn't think so. It had been too vivid, the feeling of little, scratchy legs moving down his face and hand, the sight of those fat, black spiders, like ghosts out of his worst, childhood memory. He touched his hair with a shaky hand, but he felt only dust and hair, no arachnids. He shook his head, ignoring the pounding, and took a look at his surroundings. The floor he had fallen on wasn't very big. His flashlight allowed him to see all four sides, though shadows obscured most of the details, but still bigger than most of the one room apartments he had lived in in his life. Planks of wood lay on the floor under the stair case, but the most destructive thing was right in the middle of the floor. The planks of wood were bent and shattered, revealing a large patch of sandy earth underneath it.   
    To him, it looked as if something had fallen from a great height, falling onto the floor with a great force, breaking it. He wondered if the ceiling above was broken, too, but that ceiling was more than three levels up and he wouldn't be able to see it. He walked towards the mangled boards and frowned. The earth and the boards were darker than the rest and Odin had to wonder if it was blood. If it _was_ , then it was very, very old. He moved his flashlight, following those dark splotches as they moved from the hole in the floor to a trunk by the far wall. There was a part of him that was screaming at this point to find a way out, to just ignore the ancient trunk at the same time that his curiosity made him move forward, informing him that the trunk was big enough to hold a human being, that what if the blood wasn't that old at all?  
    He opened the lid with a great deal of effort, the thing heavy and awkward to move, then swore out loud. The lid slid to the floor with a loud bang. The inside of the trunk was very plain, made of only wood, but splashed with blood. It was vibrant in the flashlight's beam, brighter than the splatters on the floor. There were streaks of blood on the front of the trunk, too. It was as though someone had poured blood into the box and it had overflowed. He turned away in disgust. Someone had died in that box. That, or it wasn't blood at all and this was some kind of trick. No one could bleed that much and live to tell about it. Hell, no one could bleed a third of that much. He put the image of someone trapped inside of that trunk, bleeding to death, far out of his mind. There was nothing he could do about it anyway. His grandmother had told him once that any house, with enough years behind it, had its ghosts. This one was clearly no exception.      
    Odin looked along each wall, trying to find a door or window. There was nothing. Remembering how long it had taken him to reach the bottom, he realized that he had to be in some sort of basement. What if the stairs were the only way out of here? What if it really was some kind of pit? He didn't think that he could pull himself back up those broken steps, but refused to even consider the possibility that he might be trapped down here. In a darkened corner, under the steps, something glowed. At first, he thought it was simply an illusion, the light of his flashlight bouncing off some piece of metal or glass, but when he turned his flashlight away, the glow remained. No, a pair of lights, like eyes, reddish, like the eyes of a jackal or rat, but it was far too big to belong to a rat.  
    His heart racing again, he walked closer to the glowing eyes, trying to get the light on the thing so he could see what it was. He had this terrible image of a giant rat, or perhaps a rabid dog, leaping at him as soon as he got too close. As he got closer, his flashlight flickered, making it impossible to see. The glowing peered back at him, right into his frightened heart, the flickering of his flashlight chilling him. To be in the dark with that glowing... He whipped his gun out from the back of his pants, aiming for those glowing eyes, ready to kill whatever was huddling there in the dark. The light stopped flickering and became solid once more, but instead of seeing the eyes of a hungry, feral dog, the redness became the blue-violet eyes of a little boy.  
    Odin immediately dropped the hand holding the gun, shame filling him. He had almost shot a kid... he only looked like he was six or seven, too. He had gone after kids before, but never this young, and those had just been jobs... He knew, logically, that there really wasn't any difference between killing for money and just plain murdering someone, but as thin as that line was, he felt shaken. He was losing it... that had to be what was going on. The noises, the shadows, the spiders, his fear... after all these years of hits, he was finally losing his mind. But, even as he thought that, that logical part of himself was screaming at him. Why, it demanded, was a kid this young down here in the dark? No, _how_ was this kid down here? The stairs were broken and there was no way a kid this little could have jumped down here without killing himself.   
    Then, there was the flashlight. He could see parts of the boy, his feet, the strange clothing he wore, and his face. The light should have been able to pick up all of the boy's body, but the light was inexplicably dull on his bare arms and neck, giving Odin only the impression of form and skin. It was as though the light was fleeing from the boy's skin, but Odin explained it away. It had to be from the fall. His flashlight had been working fine up until now and he was sure that flashlights didn't work that way, but he refused to accept any other explanation.   
    The boy himself was strange. Trapped down here, in the complete darkness, in a strange house, he should have been sobbing and terrified, but he looked up at Odin with a bizarre calmness. It reminded Odin of the way a cat would look at a bug, with interest, as though it were studying it, but it knew that it was the one in control and it had no reason to be wary of its soon to be prey. He shook off that odd thought. The boy was unnaturally pale, like the blood had stolen from his body, or he was terribly sick. Odin clung to that impression. It was easy to believe that the boy was scared and just a quiet, repressed sort of child, even if the look on his face said otherwise. Still, that look made him feel uneasy. Just seconds ago, he had been pointing a loaded gun at this little boy, fully intending on shooting him, but the boy didn't even seem shocked by this, or even a little bit worried about getting shot.   
    Why hadn't he yelled for him? If he had been sitting in the dark for so long, he should have made some noise once he had heard Odin fall or see the flashlight, but he had continued to sit here, in the dark, waiting. He just kept staring up at him like Odin was nothing, just a bug that had wandered into his room. All of his logic, all of his common sense told him to get away from the boy, that there was something very, very wrong here, but what little humanity he had left wouldn't let him do it. He told himself that the boy was just in shock. But the kimono... he couldn't see it very clearly, but he could tell that the boy was wearing a kimono.   
    Odin didn't think that many kids these days wore such traditional clothing. Even if this kid came from a very old fashioned family, he thought that only girls wore kimonos. And it was white. Maybe that wasn't so odd, but this house was ancient. There was dust and grime everywhere, yet the kimono, from what he could see of it, was pristine. Around his shoulders, the white looked clean and new. How could that even be possible? Maybe this boy had been with the other children that had tried to follow him earlier, he reasoned. Maybe he had gone ahead while the others had gone back to town. Maybe there was a festival going on today or tomorrow and that was why the boy was dressed the way he was. He couldn't even think about the oddness of his long hair. He couldn't give much thought to any of it, finding a rare weak spot for little boys, lost and alone in the dark. He knelt down, trying to appear non-threatening even as the boy continued to stare at him, wordless.  
    “Hey, there,” he said cautiously in poor Japanese, tucking his gun back into his pants, “What are you doing down here, kiddo?”  
    The boy continued to stare for a moment and Odin worried about the little Japanese that he knew, that he might have said the wrong thing. He knew how to talk conversationally, a little bit, enough to get by in this country, but was always worried about getting the translations mixed up.  
    “I can't find my doll,” the boy finally said, his voice just as strange as the rest of him, sounding as though he were whispering and there was something wrong with his throat.  
    The boy clearly wasn't afraid of where he was, Odin concluded. Maybe he was too young to really understand that he was trapped here, too worried about a lost toy.   
    “Do you know where you might have dropped it?” Odin ventured, trying to figure out how he was going to get the boy out of this pit of a room, when he couldn't even figure out how to get himself out.  
    To his shock, the boy raised his arm and pointed past Odin, towards the floor. Odin turned to look and saw what looked like a trap door, near where the floor was broken.  
    'That wasn't there before,' he thought with absolute clarity.   
    Again, as he had with all the other thoughts that didn't make sense to him, he shook it off. He had missed it, he told himself. In his panic and the confusing darkness, he had missed one trap door. That was how the boy had gotten into his room. He grabbed onto that rational thought with desperation. The boy wasn't scared because he knew how to get out, he was just in this room because he was looking for his doll. Then, there was another chaotic thought. Just how far down did this house go? They were already in a basement of sorts. That trap door must go down below the house itself.   
    “Down there?” Odin clarified, not wanting at all to go down there.  
    That trap door could lead anywhere and as much as he wanted to get out of this pit, he didn't want to go down there, either. Why had he gone those steps? The thought hit him like a physical blow as he realized how illogical his actions had been. He had gone down into the dark, had risked his life taking that fall, into a room that he didn't have a way out of. Why? He should have gone back the way he came as soon as he had realized that the staircase was broken. So, why had he made the decision to jump down here? It was as though something had dragged him here, like a siren seducing men to crash on the rocky shore. But, maybe it was for the best, if he had found this kid.   
    The boy nodded, continuing to point at the door. Odin bit back a sigh. He had to get this child back to his parents. He might be a terrible human being with questionable morals, but that concept was pretty basic. Maybe he was going to hell, but it wouldn't be for leaving a little kid in an old mansion. He would help him find his toy and the boy might be able to help him find his way out, that was a fair trade. After all, there had to be another way in and out of the mansion or he would have seen the kid before now. Unless he had entered before Odin did, but that didn't make much sense to him.   
    “I'll help you find it, ok?” he said.      
    The boy didn't reply and continued to stare up at him. Odin reached out his hand and took one of the boy's, relieved that the kid didn't throw a fit at having a stranger touch him. For a brief moment, Odin was startled by the feeling of that small hand in his. It was cold. Not just cold in that the boy had been sitting in the cold air of this basement for a long time, but cold like the way a piece of cloth that had never been worn could be cold, lifeless and still, just a thing. His skin felt strange, too, not smooth like a kid's hand should be, but Odin couldn't figure out why it felt odd to him. As the kid stood up and walked with him, Odin felt like he was carrying around an old doll, but pushed the feeling away. He was just jumpy, that was all. Of course the boy was cold. He was only wearing a thin kimono after all and there was no heat down here in the dark.   
    As they walked, Odin strangely wondering who was leading whom, he heard a strange sound coming from the boy’s feet, like a chime. It was a bell, it’s golden, metal surface reflecting in the light of the flashlight. Odin puzzled over that. He remembered old wives’ tales of mountain children having bells tied to their ankles so their mothers would always know where they were, but in this day and age, when parents had GPS chips put in their kids wrists, such a thing seemed so outdated and quaint. Odin knelt down by the trap door and lifted it up.   
    It was heavy, like the lid of the trunk and its hinges creaked loudly, dust falling off of it. It came to him, then, that there was no way a little kid could have lifted the door and with all that dust… this time, it was impossible for him to shake off the thought. It settled there, in his mind, making his unease grow and grow. A quick glance down showed him wooden ‘steps’ nailed into the side of a rock wall leading down, far enough that he couldn’t see the bottom. That bothered him, that the wall leading down was made of natural stone, not wood, like the wall of a cave.   
    “I’ll go down, ok?” he said to the boy.  
    Again, the boy said nothing, simply watching him with an unblinking stare. Odin tucked the flashlight back in one of his pant loops and descended down the stairs. The planks of wood that served as steps were in remarkable shape compared to the steps leading into the basement room, considering how damp the air was the further down Odin went. He didn’t think that the kid would be able to get down these stairs with that kimono on and he would have to help him, but he wanted to make sure that everything was safe first.  
    The stairs went down fifteen, maybe twenty feet. When Odin reached the bottom he shone his flashlight ahead of him and was shocked to see, not another room or even a cave, but a man-made tunnel, carved out of the rock of the mountains that the mansion was built upon. There were wooden struts holding up the stone walls and ceiling, water leaking down from above, though Odin didn’t know if there was a lake or a swamp above, or maybe just from a recent rain. He thought that it had to be a large body of water, there was just this impression of a great deal of pressure coming from above. The tunnel was obviously well made, or it would have flooded years ago. Even from where Odin was standing, he could see other tunnels along the winding path. It reminded him of the house itself, immense and maze-like. He really hoped that the kid knew how to get back where he came from.  
    “Hey, I’ll help you down-,” Odin started to say as he turned around.  
    The little boy looked up at him, suddenly appearing in front of Odin by the stairs. The blonde assassin stared at him, something inside of him quaking in fear. Goosebumps appeared on his arms as he stared down at the child. When had he gotten down here? No… no, he couldn’t have climbed down in the time that Odin had had his back turned to him. That was impossible. His kimono wouldn’t have allowed him to get down here, even slowly. But then again… it wouldn’t have allowed him to get up the ladder to begin with, either… every nerve he had was quaking with caution and warning. He flinched as the boy suddenly reached up and grabbed his hand, his eyes seemed to threaten Odin to move forward. He did so without a thought.   
    The question came, searing in his mind, the need to ask the boy if he had climbed down or just appeared. He didn’t try to rationalize that question, to call himself a fool for even thinking it, but he didn’t ask it, either. He realized why that was. He was scared of this child. When he had first come into this house, he would laughed at himself and the stupidity of fearing one, small child who just barely came above his knees, but now… how long had he been walking in that third floor hallway? Now… now it felt like he had been here for days, not hours.   
    Together, they walked, but Odin felt like he was being dragged around, like the boy’s hand in his was a shackle and he couldn’t let go, no matter how hard he pulled. He didn’t try to. It was like those old ghost stories like The Phantom Traveler, or Riding the Bullet. The main character would suddenly realize that the person next to them wasn’t real, was a ghost or some kind of monster, but as long as they pretended that they hadn’t realized that, they were fine. Once that monster figured out that they had figured out… they were done for. Some part of him still pulled away at that idea, told him quite firmly that he an idiot. This child was just lost, just a dumb kid, nothing more. But, somehow, it was harder to listen to that voice.  
    The path winded this way and that, going up in hills and down in pits. There were hundreds of other paths, leading somewhere unknown, but the child kept them on a straight path. Odin didn’t even know what direction they were going in anymore. For all he knew, they could be going back the way they came, with how windy the path was. At some point, he looked down and realized that they boy was barefoot. He had noted it back when he had first seen the child, but hadn’t really thought about it until now. The ground was rough with gravel and sharp rocks. He almost said something about it, volunteer to carry the boy, when he saw that the boy was walking fine, his feet not bloody or even scratched.       
    No child was this silent, no human could walk this path barefoot and not be in considerable pain… Odin firmly kept looking on ahead, terrified of even acknowledging his own thoughts. It was ridiculous but… he was afraid of the boy reading his fears, of realizing that Odin was starting to suspect that there was something unnatural about him… They walked for so long that Odin started to feel a blister form on the sole of one of his feet, but then he saw the end of the tunnel, another row of planks leading to another trap door. He looked down to ask the boy if he wanted to him to go up it, but the boy was gone, like a wisp of smoke. Odin shuddered. He knew where the boy was. Somehow, he knew.   
    Odin climbed up to the trap door and it took all of his strength to get this door open. It slammed against the floor above and he pulled himself up. A sudden light, after hour upon hour of absolute darkness, blinded him. He flung his arm over his eyes, the smell of candle wax, dust, and old wood overwhelming him, and waited until he could see again. It was a small room, quaint compared to the large cavern below. There were several workbenches, each with wooden arms, legs, heads, and other doll parts strewn about. The light that had blinded him came from five paper lanterns, the flame in them flickering, placed at each corner of the room and one on top of a work bench. He quickly came to realize that, though he was out of the darkness and the confinement of the stairway and cavern, even this room was wrong.  
    There was wreckage all over the room. The wall behind him was destroyed in a way that Odin had never seen in his entire life, the wood bent, but not broken, like large ribs. The largest workbench was in splinters around the room, various doll parts mangled and broken. The damage of the wall and the bench was intense to look at, looking, not like a natural force, but the temper tantrum of a child. From the ceiling hung small dolls, the ropes tied, oddly, not to their backs but around their necks. Every doll had black and red hair. It was strangely macabre looking, like a dozen hanging children. To Odin’s right was a large mirror, but, unlike the rest of the old, untouched room, there was no dust or streaks on its flat surface. It, like the child, was unnatural to look at.   
    The child was suddenly there, by his side, and had been there since Odin had climbed up. His blue eyes widened as he saw, on the mirror side, the little dolls were swinging back and forth while on his side, they remained as still as death. He swallowed roughly. He felt like he was dreaming. He felt like he had never gone up and down all those stairs, that he had never left the first floor. He knew, without any idea about how he could possibly know it, that this room was on that first floor. He glanced down at the boy and had to fight not to look away.   
    What little doubt he had left him, leaving him feeling hollow and chilled. He could see clearly now what shadows and his weakened flashlight had hid. The boy’s unearthly skin was slashed brutally, looking red and raw in the light of the lanterns, giving fact to Odin’s earlier thought that that white skin looked bloodless. Someone had bled the child dry. The boy was looking to the side of the workbench in front of them and Odin followed his gaze. Two feet, the size of the child’s but made of wood, poked out of the corner. His doll. In the midst of his psychotic musings, he had completely forgotten about their search.   
    He walked over to the bench, not wanting to turn his back on the boy, but secretly hoping that once the doll was given to him, the… thing would go away. He picked up the doll, which was heavy, just slightly smaller than the boy himself, and was glad to see that the doll was intact. Again, he thought of the destruction of the room. He didn’t want to see what the boy was capable of if Odin couldn’t deliver to him what he wanted. The doll was an ugly thing, not something that Odin could see a child wanting to play with. Most children wanted soft things, things they could hug and sleep with, things that were brightly colored, shaped like animals or something cute. The doll was none of these things.  
    It was more like a mannequin than a doll, obviously made during a period when wood was more in fashion than plastic. Or rather, perhaps that was because the doll, like the dolls around him, were all handmade. Part of it’s ugliness was purely from age and rot. The wood it was made of had been, he was sure, smooth and pretty when it had been new, but was now ragged and dark from time. It’s form was remarkably correct, given its handmade quality, with several joints in its hands and feet. Positioned correctly, it could hold things and even stand up. It was impossible to tell what sort of clothes the doll had been decorated with as they were now rotten and in tatters.  
    The doll might have had a sweet, cute face in the past, but now, it was as grotesque as the dolls hanging from nooses. It’s long hair, instead of straw, was made from what looked like horse hair and it was a dingy sort of black. Odin thought it might have been brown or chestnut in the past, but centuries of dirt and lack of care had changed that. It’s eyes were eerie, slanted slots with fake, glass eyes a dark purple color, darker than the little boy’s eyes, but it was obvious that someone had tried to mimic them. One eye was clouded, the color dull, like the doll had cataracts, the wooden eye socket of the other rotted so badly that the socket was a gaping hole, the glass eye nearly falling out of it.   
    The worst, though, was the mouth, the wood, like the eye socket, rotten so that the tiny smile of a children’s doll was pulled apart and full, like the smile of a clown, the ends too far up the cheeks to be anything but sinister. When it had first been made, the little smile would have given just a glimpse of perfectly crafted teeth, but now, the wooden teeth were sharp and uneven, glaring out of the widened, sneering mouth. The head itself was twisted around, looking in the opposite direction of its front, it’s wooden neck cracked, but he couldn’t tell is someone had broken its neck on purpose. He couldn’t imagine such a thing being well loved by any child and yet, this one had dragged him all this way for this one. He turned it back around, so the head and back were facing the ground, not wanting to look into those unsettling eyes anymore.   
    “Is this your doll?” he asked the long haired boy.      
    The boy stared up at him, this time, his gaze full of fury and hate instead of study.  
    “No!” the boy yelled angrily, sounding like a child about to throw a tantrum.  
    The air around them grew heavy and something icy cold wrapped around Odin’s heart, choking him and making it hard to breathe. He gasped for breath, his whole body shaking and his hair standing on end. His heart struggled to beat through the ice and he realized that, if fury could be tangible, a living thing in the air, it would be like this. Odin froze in place, even as his instincts wanted to make him run away from the child, as he heard a creaking sound so loud, it was almost like a snap. It wasn’t coming from upstairs anymore, it was…  
    He looked down at the doll he held in his hands. The doll’s head was no longer facing down, but to the side. He watched, in horror, as the head continued to turn, just a little bit every minute, towards him, it’s broken neck creaking, like bones snapping into place. Glassy, purple eyes stared up at him like an accusation as the head finally settled, right where it should be.  
    “Oh, fuck,” he muttered through his terror.  
    The doll’s hand grabbed his arm, pulling itself up, the wooden fingers leaving tiny splinters in his flesh. Odin barely had time to blink as the doll leapt out of his arms, the movement shocking compared to how slow the head and arm’s movements had been, and bit Odin’s neck, it’s sharp, wooden teeth sinking in deeply. Teeth like a rat’s, but worse. This rat was conscious. It wasn’t biting him to protect itself or warn him off. It wanted to kill him. No, not just that. It wanted to taste his blood. A dozen shards of hard wood pierced through his skin, pain shooting through his neck.       
    Odin yelped at that pain, grabbing frantically at the doll’s head, ripping the thing away from his neck, taking a piece of his flesh with it, and threw it across the room. The mannequin crashed against the wall and fell in a jumble on the floor. Blood, hot and thick, poured from the deep wound on Odin’s neck, soaking his shirt with it. He fell to his knees, suddenly feeling strange, not quite lightheaded, but like something was wrong. His head throbbed and his vision dimmed.   
    He felt like he was falling backwards, but not physically. He saw, through his fading vision, the doll’s limbs twitch. It started to rise again, it’s joints popping back into place. It took lurching, awkward steps towards him, a cross between a horror movie zombie and someone having a seizure. It’s shoulders were slumped, the blackened hair falling in front of it’s eyes, but Odin could still see them looking up at him through the hair, one painfully wide, the other clouded, and it took jarring steps, one after the other towards him. He was transfixed by the sight of his wet blood dripping from those wooden teeth. Then, he fell into blackness.  
  
  
End Part 1  
  
  
  
A few things. One, yes, I’m sorry that this is only part of the intro, but it got too long, so I stopped it at 32 pages. Two, I will be working on Beyond the Looking Glass all through October. Then, I’m going to be working on Violence + Sex = Love for Nanowrimo, so fans of that should rejoice. Three, please, please, please review this story. There aren’t many reviews for it and if I’m to put out more of this chapter before Halloween, I really need some writer juice.   
      
      
  
      
      
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  



	6. Chapter 3: Dolls Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Odin is shown one of Duo's cherished memories of when he was sick as a child and Hiiro took care of him.
> 
> Hiiro and Duo meet for the first time as children.

Beyond the Looking Glass  
Chapter 3: Dolls  
  
Author’s Notes: Yay, I wrote seventy pages more this year than last year! This chapter is sooo much longer than it should have been, but each part of this chapter holds vital information about the past. The title ‘dolls’ isn’t just for the child ghost looking for his doll, it’s about the control traditions had over Duo’s life, and death, and his vulnerability against those traditions. As the ghosts allude to at the end of the introduction, Heero and his friends are all dolls to be played with and broken.   
  
There’s no way I’m going to get the next part out before Sunday, so Happy Halloween!  
  
Don’t forget that I will only be working on Violence plus Sex equals Love all November.   
  
Part 2  
  
  
    “Houses are alive. This is something we know. News from our nerve endings.   
    If we’re quiet… if we listen… we can hear houses breathe. Sometimes in the depth of the night, we hear them groan. It’s as if they’re having bad dreams.  
    A good house cradles and comforts. A bad one fills us with instinctive unease.  
    Bad houses hate our warmth, our humanness. That blind hate of our humanity is what we mean when we use the word “haunted.””   
        -Rose Red  
  
  
  
*****  
      
  
    It felt like he was falling backwards, like he had when he had fallen down those stairs, only there were no stairs to fall over, only emptiness. He felt cold, colder than he had ever felt in his entire life, but mostly, he just felt wrong. His skin prickled, as though he were being pinched all over, and his head felt like it was on fire. It felt as though minutes, hours, days, and weeks were passing him by, all in the span of a second. That sensation alone was almost enough to drive him mad. Then, he felt flat floor under his feet and it was as though he hadn’t been falling at all. The memory of the doll, slowly rising to its feet and stumbling towards him, was sharp and vivid. He frantically reached behind him for his gun, the gun which he hadn’t even thought to use until now, but he quickly realized that there was no doll.      
    There were no dolls at all, actually. No shattered workbenches, no broken wall, no pain, either. Some part of him knew that he was not ok. The doll had taken a large bite out of his neck and he was bleeding, but for some reason, it seemed far away, as though it had happened to another person. Or rather, he was no longer connected to his body. He should be shocked that the room he was looking at was completely different from the room with the hanging dolls, but he was more relieved than anything. More than the carnivorous doll, he didn’t want to see that boy anymore. He didn’t want to look into those flat, piercing eyes. Eyes that could look into your soul with gleeful accuracy, and no sympathy or human empathy.   
    The smell was familiar, the smell of wood and age, but there was no scent of something rotting or dust. Though the smell of age was there, it was lessened. At first, Odin thought it was tempered by the cleanliness of the room, the fact that it was well maintained, but then realized that it was because the age itself was less. The wood that made up the room was lighter, not broken or rotted or faded. The wood was still old, though, but more like the place had been built decades ago, not centuries. Among the smell of wood were two other distinct smells, one sweet, the other hot and thick, the smell of food. Such a smell didn't belong in the old mansion that he had entered. It made him realize how hungry and cold he really was. The sweet smell was earthly, the smell of flowers, but not like cut roses. It was lighter and reminded Odin of the large cherry tree he had seen before he had entered the house.   
    The room was big. Not huge, but bigger than the workshop and the pit with the broken floor. IT was a bedroom. There were expensive touches to it, scrolls depicting beautiful watercolor scenes, a dresser made of thick, glossy wood. The flat floor wasn't wood, like he had thought at first, but made of tatami. The mats were softer than any other tatami that Odin had walked on before, obviously made differently. The colors of the room were different than what he had experienced so far in Japan, bright and lush. There were several toys about the room, but the space looked neat, unlike a usual child's room. A well-loved, bright red ball sitting in one corner caught his eye, but Odin wasn't sure why it seemed to draw him in, besides its color. There was a pretty little paper lantern that had tiny butterflies cut out of the paper, to make shapes when it was lit. It wasn't lit now, daylight streaming through one, circular window. Odin was more interested in the futon near the lantern, and the person laying in it.   
    His heart chilled. The boy with the long hair and the white kimono was there, his eyes closed, and a large amount of blankets wrapped around him. Odin thought of his gun again, but something stopped him from actually reaching for it. Something was wrong with all of this. Not just the lack of age or the different room, but the boy himself. His skin was still pale, but compared to the little boy that had looked up at him in the darkness of the pit room, it was flush with color, a light peach tone. His hair was mussed and sweaty, his face reddened. The blankets were up to his neck, so Odin couldn't tell if he would have those terrible cuts, but he didn't think so. The boy was breathing heavily, in whooshing pants, as though it were hard for him to take each breath. Odin easily saw the signs of a bad fever and seeing the boy's small chest, covered in blankets, rise and fall with each choked breath was painful. This boy... he wasn't the same as the other one. He was alive, vibrant, though ill. Odin didn't feel the chill and the fear that that other boy gave him, just a strong sense of sadness and regret.   
    Another boy walked to the little brunette's bed, kneeling down on his knees and regarding him tensely. He looked a few years older than the sick boy, his hair thick and a deep, dark brown. Odin would have guessed that, unlike the long haired boy, this boy was purely Japanese, if it weren't for his dark blue eyes. Given the expensive items of the room, Odin knew that the sick boy belonged to a wealthy family and noticed that the blue-eyed boy was probably a servant. He wore a very simple, dark blue yukata that wasn't poor or old, but not as luxurious as the next man who came into the room. He wore robes that Odin believed were close to Shinto, though he couldn't be sure, and looked very expensive. He was middle aged, his hair a dark grey, his eyes a light brown. He looked mostly European, with some Japanese thrown in. He walked with importance, a sense of power around him. However, when he looked down at the boy in the futon, his gaze seemed to soften with emotion. Odin thought that the man looked worried. The blue-eyed boy took the younger boy's hand in his, holding it lightly, clasped between his two tan ones.   
    “Teishu-san,” he murmured and Odin realized that this boy was even more worried about the younger one than the man was.  
    The boy on the futon cracked open his eyes until they were half lidded. They, like the boy that had tormented Odin, were blue-violet, but they were prettier now. They weren't dark and flat, but lively. They looked hazy with fever, but he imagined that, in better health, they would be bright.   
    “Told you not to call me that, Heero,” he rasped.   
    Heero smiled down at the boy apologetically. For a moment, Odin was struck by the softness and care in the boy’s smile, a boy who seemed so quiet. That smile seemed so rare to him, as though he knew, somehow, that Heero was usually cold, focused, and stern, usually unmoved and uncaring towards other people. The type of person who cared only for duty, for what he had to do, and not so much why he had to do it. Odin could certainly understand that sort of personality.  
    “Duo,” Heero corrected himself, “How are you feeling?”  
    The longhaired boy, Duo… it was almost strange to put a name to the child that had led him through the dark tunnel, who had no warmth or affection, who had, certainly, brought him to his death. It was even stranger to see that boy become relieved by Heero’s touch and voice. Children were so often frightened by illness and a in a time when medicine wasn’t so readily available or accurate, Duo had reason to be frightened, but seemed to trust the older boy. Duo was uncomfortable equating the feverish, scared little boy in front of him with the other one.  
    “… Hot,” Duo whispered, his eyes slipping closed as though he didn’t have the strength to keep them open anymore.  
    The man approached the two boys, his expression sharp and stern, not quite cold, but authoritative.   
    “Heero,” he said and to Odin, his tone sounded more like a boss about to scold his employee than an adult addressing a child.  
    Heero turned, got on his knees again, and bowed deeply, but one of his hands did not leave Duo’s, twisted and obviously uncomfortable by the new position. Still, he didn’t let him go.   
    “Shujin-sama, (1)” Heero greeted.  
    The man gave Heero an appreciative nod, seeming to be both glad and unhappy with the blue-eyed boy’s presence at Duo’s bedside.  
    “You will leave now, Heero,” the man ordered.  
    Heero seemed shocked by this, his deep blue eyes widening. He looked torn between not wanting to disrespect and disobey the man in front of him, and not wanting to disregard his personal and professional duty by leaving Duo.  
    “Matsuei-shujin… I don’t understand what you are ordering me to do,” he protested.  
    “You are to leave my son’s room and not return for the time he is ill,” Matsuei clarified, not upset at Heero’s questioning.  
    “Duo needs me!” Heero argued heatedly, his fear of his master being overriden by his concern for his charge, “I’m his Guard, I have be here for him!”  
    “Precisely the reason why you must leave,” Matsuei said coldly, “Duo will need you when he is well and you will not be of use if you are sick from his contagion. There is nothing you can do for him now that his nurse cannot.”   
    Heero looked up Duo’s father, his blue eyes piercing, but Odin could see that the boy was going to relent to the man’s logic. He turned to Duo, that piercing look still there, but combined with a deep worry, an almost panic at the thought of leaving. Duo’s face was slightly pinched, his breathing deeper from obvious stress from the heat of his fever. He picked up a cloth that was by the longhaired boy’s bedding and dipped it in a basin of cold water. He seemed to have dismissed his master’s presence, completely focused on the ill boy. He gently put the wet cloth on Duo’s forehead, pushing back his long bangs. Duo moaned lightly in happiness at the feeling of cold. He opened his eyes blearily again and very weakly gripped the hem of Heero’s yukata as it hung over the blue eyed boy’s bent legs.  
    “Heero…” he begged breathlessly, “… don’t go…”  
    Heero chewed on his lip, torn on what he should do, but managed a smile.  
    “I won’t be gone long,” he promised, “Listen to your nurse and you will be well again, soon. You can see me again, then. When you aren’t contagious anymore, we’ll watch the cherry blossoms together.”  
    Duo pouted childishly, letting go of Heero’s clothing.   
    “Don’t want nurses,” he whined, “You take care of me better.”  
    Heero’s smile grew and he patted Duo’s head.  
    “I’ll bring you something nice when you’re better,” he told him, “Just rest.”  
    Duo looked away from him, anxious about something.  
    “Heero…” he murmured hesitantly, “What… what if I don’t get better? If I die… what will happen to my family? What will happen to you?”  
    The child sounded honestly frightened and Odin puzzled over the twin looks of fear on Heero and Matsuei’s face. Were they just afraid for Duo’s life? Was he really that sick? Was that what had happened to him? Was that other boy a ghost? But, those cuts…   
    “Don’t speak that way,” Matsuei snapped at his son, “You have enfluenza, nothing more than that. Do not concern yourself with such questions.”  
    Duo nodded, but there was a chill in the room, his question lingering in the air with a seriousness that Odin couldn’t understand.   
    “You won’t die,” Heero said, his voice much softer and kinder than Matusei’s, “Your father is right. You’ve been sick since yesterday and your nurse says you should be feeling better by tomorrow.”  
    “I will die,” the violet eyed boy murmured, so low that only Heero and Odin could hear, “I’ll die… maybe not today… but I’ll die.”  
    The chill that was in the room settled around Odin’s heart, gripping the organ. Those words weren’t the words of a child scared of being sick. They were the words of someone who knew their own death, someone with terminal cancer or looking some terrible enemy in the face. Duo spoke with fact, not fear, and it made Odin feel sad and confused at the same time. Heero was looking at his charge like he was searching desperately for some comforting words, but couldn’t think of any. The blonde assassin watched as Heero and Matsuei left the room, leaving Duo alone with his heavy breathing and look of resignation.  
    As though someone had flipped a switch, things changed. To his relief, the room was the same, but little things were different. The sun was gone, the light replaced with the lantern’s flickering flame, casting tiny butterflies on the dark walls of the bedroom. The water basin by Duo’s bed had been refilled at some point. There were several cups near it, all of them empty, a few tipped over. They smelled of tea, milk, and honey. The boy in the bed was still breathing with rasping pants, his eyes closed, but Odin didn’t think he was asleep. The washcloth that Heero had put on his forehead had fallen to the side of the futon. Odin knelt down near Duo’s head, studying him.   
    He just looked like a normal kid to him, but he knew that wasn’t true. There was a strange sadness to the boy’s expressions, an almost maturity and deep loneliness. Duo’s chestnut bangs moved up and down from his heavy breaths. Everything was telling Odin that this wasn’t real. This wasn’t his time, not with the way these people acted and the clothes they wore. And yet, it was so vivid, so real. He felt as though, if he were to reach his hand out right now, he could touch those silky, sweat-soaked bangs. The door to the room slid open and Heero walked in, quietly closing the door behind him. Odin felt an odd relief at seeing him. For a moment, he wondered if the things he were feeling were really his feelings, that relief, feeling that Heero was naturally stern and cold… he shouldn’t know or feel those things.   
    Still, he supposed it was logical. This wasn’t his time and these images had to come from somewhere. Besides, Duo was all alone here, not even a nurse was sitting by his bedside. Shouldn’t someone be watching him? He could easily imagine the little boy’s loneliness. At his age, sitting alone with a fever had to be frightening. Though Heero had a white cloth wrapped around his nose and mouth, he didn’t seem all that concerned about Matsuei’s warning that Duo was contagious. The older boy was inexplicably carrying two boxes, a small white one and a large one wrapped with blue paper and a white bow. He put them down next to Duo’s futon as he kneeled there. Duo really hadn’t been sleeping and looked up at him, surprised by his presence. His eyes weren’t glassy anymore and his face wasn’t as red, his fever starting to fade.   
     “Heero?” he whispered, “Shouldn’t be here…”  
    Heero shook his head.  
    “I was careful. With this,” he pointed to the cloth, his voice slightly muffled by it, “and making sure your father wouldn’t catch me. Besides, it’s your birthday tomorrow.”  
    Duo’s eyes seemed to brighten and become more alert by his friend’s presence, the fear becoming dull and distant.  
    “How old are you going to be anyway?” Heero teased.  
    “Eight!” Duo exclaimed proudly, then sobered, “Three more years,” he murmured.  
    The second of energy diminished and darkness filled Heero’s eyes, he looked pained. He fought a smile onto his face, though, and glanced at the boxes. Duo’s gaze followed his and his mood seemed to improve again.   
    “Those mine?” he asked with shyness, as though he were afraid that Heero would take them away.  
    “Of course they are,” Heero snorted, “Who else do I like enough to go into town and spend my money on?”  
    Duo’s violet eyes widened, the flickering light catching the deep purple colors in his eyes.   
    “You got them in town?” he asked in shock, looking at the boxes like a unicorn had pranced into the room.   
    Heero nodded.  
    “Which is why you have to hide them from your father, alright?” he said.  
    Duo nodded seriously, but though gifts from town were obviously taboo for some reason, he still looked at them happily. What sort of place was this, Odin wondered. A prison? Heero helped Duo sit up, propping pillows under his back, and put the bigger box on his lap. Duo touched the blue paper lightly, marveling at it as though he had never seen a present wrapped that way in his life, or maybe he was just enthralled with the idea of something that was wrapped in town, away from the mansion that he was clearly imprisoned in. He slowly unwrapped the large box and opened the lid of the white package. When he saw what was inside, he squealed with delight that only a child could feel.   
    “Dolly!” he said happily.  
    Odin felt chilled and stood sharply, only to breathe in relief when the boy pulled out a stuffed bear, not the terrible, wooden doll. The teddy bear was a cute, beautiful, and expensive thing, reminding Odin of the Steif bears that he had seen as a child. It’s fur was lush, a light chestnut, and it’s eyes were two, blue-violet buttons. The bear was about a third of the size of the soon-to-be eight year old and was unadorned except for a bell tied above one of its feet by braided, red, satin strings. Duo wrapped his arms around it and hugged it tightly, snuggling against its soft fur, obviously in love with the bear already. Odin looked around and realized that Duo didn’t have any stuffed animals at all among his toys. It made some sense. If Duo wasn’t allowed toys from outside the mansion, unless someone in the house knew how to make stuffed animals, he wouldn’t have any.   
    ‘ ‘Dolly’…’ Odin suddenly realized, ‘Was this what that boy wanted me to find? Was that why he was so angry when I showed him that wooden doll? Because he really wanted this teddy bear?’  
    Heero chuckled at Duo’s excitement.  
    “Not a doll,” he corrected, “Westerns call it a teddy bear.”  
    His smile turned distant and slightly pained, lost in some memory.  
    “My father used to travel west. My mother came from the west and he enjoyed visiting her people. When he returned, he would often bring me one of these bears as a gift, since I couldn’t travel with him,” Heero told Duo, touching one of the bear’s rounded ears.  
    Duo touched Heero’s hand, his expression comforting and warm, sympathizing with the older boy’s pain. Odin realized that, with Heero’s pained look, his father was probably dead or had abandoned him.   
    “When he came back home with those bears,” Heero murmured, “I was so happy,” he gave Duo an affectionate look, “I wanted you to feel that, too, Teishu-san. I know you’re lonely sometimes, and I can’t be with you all the time, especially not when you have your sacred duties to perform.”  
    For once, Duo didn’t scold Heero for calling him teishu, simply hugging his bear tighter and nuzzling it. Heero continued to have an affectionate smile as he reached for the second box, happy that Duo liked his gift. Odin wondered at that. It looked like Duo’s father was the head of this mansion, which meant that Duo was filthy rich, but he didn’t act spoiled. The bear looked expensive, but not something that a rich boy would settle with, yet Duo looked so happy with it. Was he really that lonely, that he could be happy with a sincere gift from a friend, even if it was simple? Heero gave the box to Duo, who continued to keep the bear tucked in one arm.   
    “It’s cheesecake with strawberries and sauce,” Heero told him, “From the same shop I bought from during the Fall Festival. I remembered how much you loved it.”  
    Duo opened the box with glee, finding a large piece of fresh, plain cheesecake, drizzled with sugary, strawberry sauce with slices of ripe strawberries on the side. Duo loved fruit, but strawberries and apples were his favorite. Again, Odin was struck with the impossibility of that knowledge, but was starting to let go of his confusion. He was starting to understand that, in this place, there wasn’t anything that was outright impossible. If Duo’s thoughts and knowledge was in his head, there wasn’t anything he could do but accept it.   
    Or maybe it was this house. Maybe its memories of Duo were locked inside and it was broadcasting them, perverting Duo’s ghost into something horrific, and remembering the people who had lived within, little, trivial facts about them. He didn’t think that there were actual rules about hauntings. Odin watched, feeling like a voyeur at this point, as Heero fished a fork out of the tie around his yukata, handing it to Duo. Duo didn’t seem to have much trouble holding the fork, but considering his European features, he was probably familiar with a few Western things.   
    “Share?” Duo asked Heero, his eyes large and pleading.  
    Heero looked torn. He knew that he would have to pull down the cloth and sharing food with Duo would increase the risk of him catching Duo’s flu, but he wanted to make him happy. He steeled himself and nodded, Duo’s immediate, beaming smile relaxing him. Heero found a tray of dishes on the other side of Duo’s futon, which his nurse hadn’t taken yet, and found a clean spoon that Duo should have used to eat his soup. Odin got an impression that Duo liked to drink his soup and not use a spoon, something that his father frowned upon. The two boys sat together and took small chunks out of the cheesecake, both looking content and happy, but Odin knew it wasn’t just from the sweet desert.   
    Out in the hallway, Odin heard a creaking sound from someone walking close to the door. It was so like the creaking he had heard much, much earlier, above his head, that he almost flinched. A light came from under the door and both Duo and Heero held their breaths, but the light passed. Heero breathed with relief.  
    “I should go,” Heero said mournfully.  
    They shared a sad look and Odin, who was far from prone to having sentimental feelings, nearly felt heartbroken about it. He wasn’t sure if that was because of the supernatural forces, the same ones that were giving him these memories and impressions, or if the two boys really looked that lonely. The cheesecake was all gone and Heero gathered up the boxes and wrapping paper, eager to dispose of them before Duo’s father saw them. He took the cloth he had wrapped around his mouth and tucked it into the belt of his yukata, no longer needing it. He put his hand on Duo’s still hot forehead, but quickly removed it, smiling at him.   
    “Happy birthday, Duo,” he murmured and started to walk towards the door.  
    “Heero!” Duo gasped after him, his sore throat making it impossible for him to speak very loudly.  
    Heero stopped and looked back at him, worried that Duo might be in pain, but his charge was smiling, hugging his present tightly.   
    “I love my bear,” Duo said softly, his smile somehow shy and bright all at once.  
    Heero beamed back at him, then opened the sliding door, looking both ways to make sure the no one would see him coming out of Duo’s room. He quietly left, closing the door behind him. Odin watched as Duo’s happy expression fell as soon as the door closed, like a puppet whose strings had been brutally slashed. The little boy tugged his pillows until he was able to lay flat again, and curled up on his side. Clutching his bear tightly, his face still red and his pretty eyes starting to become wet with tears, he looked utterly miserable. The tears fell down his cheeks in thick torrents, tears of complete anguish, not just a temper tantrum. Tears that made Odin’s heart ache. The boy buried his face in the bear’s dark fur, but his thin shoulders continued to shake.  
    “I know I have to die,” Duo said with shuddering breaths through his sobs, “I know… that’s the only reason why I was I born at all. I told Heero that I wasn’t scared, because it’s something I have to do, but… even though I know it’s something that I have to do… I’m scared… I lied… I’m so scared…”  
    The child sobbed heavily. The flickering of the lantern’s candle seemed to sympathize with his sorrow, casting wild shadows and sharp light, although there was no wind in the bedroom to make it flicker this way and that. It reminded Odin of the trap door that hadn’t been there one minute and had materialized the next. Something impossible, but so easily ignored or reasoned. Duo lifted his head and stared at his bear as though the bear was a living thing.  
    “Daddy says that it’s going to hurt,” he whispered at the stuffed animal, “And after, it’ll hurt even worse, _and_ it hurts forever. He says that the Darkness hurts and keeping it back is like getting ripped apart in every direction. I’ll feel it always and always. It goes here,” he pointed to the middle of his chest, not the left side where his heart really was, a childish mistake, “It wraps around you and shows you things. It finds the cracks in your heart and fills them and twists them and if you break, everyone dies.”  
    Duo swallowed roughly, not wiping at his tears that dripped down his neck.  
    “If I’m not strong,” he murmured, “Everyone will die. Heero, Mommy, Daddy, the town, and then, everyone else in the whole world. But I’m _not_ strong. I’m a crybaby!” he said bitterly, “When I fall down or hurt myself, I always cry! How can I keep the Darkness back? I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do! Daddy won’t say, just “you’ll know when you face it”! I’m not supposed to doubt or want anything. But… but I do… I don’t want to fail and I don’t want to go there, into that dark place, forever. I want to stay here, with Heero, and Mommy and Daddy. I… I don’t want to die… Those feelings are bad. I’m special, I have to be stronger than anyone else. It’s my duty. You’ll keep the Darkness away, won’t you, Teddy?” Duo pleaded, “You’ll stop me from being afraid… the dark place is scary and full of monsters… but I have to face it… I have to… to be like Heero. Have to be strong… even if there are monsters…”  
    Duo’s voice tapered off, starting to become weak from sickness and his stormy emotions. The boy’s words were mature, speaking of a great responsibility, but his pleads to his teddy bear to make the monsters go away was so normally child-like, it was painful to listen to. Odin couldn’t even begin to understand what he was talking about, but it sent chills through him. He had this sudden image of this little boy trapped someplace dark, filled with terrible things. The stuff of every child’s nightmare. And his father was asking him to go there, without any doubt or fear, or they would all die. To put such a responsibility on the shoulders of an eight year old…  
    The coldness grew, filling his veins, like the coldness from before… there was that prickling feeling, too, and his head was on fire. He was going back, he realized with fear. He didn’t want to. He wanted to stay here, where the ghost was just a sad child and the room looked new instead of ancient, smelling of hot food and the scent of flowers, not rot and dust. He knew what was waiting for him if he went back. He took the glock out of the back of his pants, even though he knew it wouldn’t do him much good. He didn’t fall this time. Odin could see the workshop under the bedroom, like a superimposed image, and as that feeling of cold increased, like a snake around his heart, the workshop seemed to seep into the room and filled it until the child and the walls filled with butterflies from the lantern disappeared completely. It was as though Hell had oozed through the wood.   
    He could feel sharply, while before he had only been dimly aware of it, the hot blood running down his neck again. His almost-healed bullet wound was soaking his shirt with blood, too, but he couldn’t remember it reopening. With quick reflexes, Odin shot the doll the second he saw its shadowy form. The bullet struck the doll on the side of the face, some wood flying off in sharp shards. It fell to the floor again, but Odin didn’t feel any relief, remembering how quickly it had gotten up last time. How did you kill a doll? Maybe with fire, but he didn’t have any. And even then…   
    His killer instincts had the hair on the back of his neck rising, screaming at him that there was something else, something different in the room. He whirled at a flash of white in the corner of his eye, seeing a figure standing by the mirror wearing a pure, white kimono. The braid trailing down its back told him what he was looking at, even though the being wasn’t a child. It’s shoulders shook and Odin struggled to see its reflection in the mirror. He didn’t want to get close to it. Still, he approached it slowly, stepping to the side so he could see its face.   
    In his teenage years, Duo had matured from an adorable child to a beautiful boy. This… specter was crying, just like the living child had been. This Duo, however, was very much dead. The ghost seemed transfixed with what Odin thought was his reflection in the mirror, still not able to see the mirror in its entirety, one bloodless hand pressed against the flat surface. Suddenly, those eerie violet eyes slid over to Odin, finally noticing him. Odin felt a shock from that, but not the fear he had felt in seeing the ghost child. There was something about this teenager that was terrible, but he didn’t feel threatened for some reason.   
    “Murderer,” the ghost accused bitterly, his voice distorted and raspy, sending more chills through the assassin.  
    Something prickled inside of him at the insult. In the past, he might have defended himself. He wasn’t a killer. He did a job, that was all. Now, he realized that he had no words to deny that. He was a murderer. There were no shades of grey. The understanding in those dead eyes told him that. The ghost looked at his hidden reflection again.  
    “You’re a murderer,” the ghost murmured, “As I am.”  
    Horrible things flashed through Odin’s mind, each worse than the last. Five old men hanging from ropes wrapped around their necks. A little blonde girl, her small body stashed in a closet and slashed, as though by a bear or some other large predator. A beautiful woman with two blonde braids, her stomach ripped apart, like she had swallowed a bomb. Or something had tried to crawl out of her. A man, all skin and bones, mangled and covered in blood, holding the head of a woman. Birds feasting, tearing strips of remaining flesh off an unrecognizable, man-sized corpse. Odin grabbed at his pounding head, trying hard not to vomit.  
    “Stop it!” he screamed.  
    So many dead… it was as though this house had been built on the bones of so many corpses… and this boy was saying that he had done it. He couldn’t believe it at first, that the sweet little boy that had cried, clutching a teddy bear, had killed anyone. But then, he remembered the flat-eyed child, peering at him through the darkness like a cat at a mouse, and he could believe it easily. The older ghost seemed unperturbed by Odin’s screaming and his eyes fell on the doll, still lying on the floor in a heap.   
    Blue-violet eyes that had only been filled with sorrow became angry as he stared in contempt at the doll, almost like a bitter child. It made Odin realize that, though this Duo was clearly older than the one in the vision and the one that had been haunting him, he was still very young, too young. Those eyes were not the eyes of a living person. They were flat and haunted, not the eyes of a corpse, but filled with a sort of anguish that no living person could possibly feel, but seeing that irritation and bitterness directed towards the wooden doll, the ghost suddenly seemed shockingly, and paradoxically human. It was a freakish thing, a crime against nature and reality.   
    Odin followed Duo's heated gaze and watched in astonishment as the wood of the doll started to blacken, as though time was being sped up in some kind of pocket around the doll. It's wooden frame split and cracked, it's limbs making loud snapping sounds, the sound of bones breaking, as they splintered from some malevolent force. It was hideous and too easy to think of the doll as a living thing being tortured. It brought bad memories to Odin, of those rare times when he had had to 'persuade' people to give him information about his targets. For the first time in his life, guilt struck him. He understood it then, seeing that doll and remembering the terrible things the spirit had shown him. Duo wasn't just a ghost... he was a force of nature. Odin had sealed his own fate the second he had decided to come up here. He was going to die... just like all those people he had seen in his mind. He didn't know what was more terrifying, the pain he knew that he was going to experience in this lonely place, or how helpless he was to do anything about it.   
    Something bright flashed in Odin's vision and he got the impression of a sharp, biting cold like ice, then an intense heat. For a moment, he thought the room was on fire, then, the vision sharpened, like a camera coming into focus. There lanterns made of delicate, bright red paper, all lit and blinding to him. His vision was blurry, as though he were crying and he couldn't make out most of the room. Duo, as a child, was standing there next to Heero, whose back was as straight as a rod and looking stern. Duo's white kimono was plastered to him with water and he was shivering with cold. The kimono was no longer a pure white, but a dingy whitish-brown. His right arm was bandaged heavily and in a sling, obviously broken. His fingers on his left arm were bruised so deep, they were black. He looked like he was going to cry, but was holding back his tears.  
    In the far wall of the room was a small hearth that was lit, the flames casting an orange-red glow on the two boys. Matsuei and a woman stood by it, their expressions pinched with an irritation that only parents could express, about to scold a child for doing something forbidden. The woman was beautiful, just a head's shorter than Matsuei, her blonde hair done up in an elegant, oriental style, an ornamental hair comb in a flower pattern used to keep it pinned up. Her skin was almost as pale as Duo's was, her eyes a crystalline blue. Unlike Matsuei, she didn't have a drop of Japanese in her, looking mostly European, but she wore an elegant, long-sleeved kimono, a deep blue with pink sakura on it, the obi a contrasting orange. She stood elegantly, a woman of class and privilege, but didn't seem stuck up or arrogant. The way she looked at Duo, and the similar, pretty features of her face and the older ghost's easily told Odin that the woman was Duo's mother, Matsuei's wife.   
    Matsuei's expression was hard and cold, almost angry, though if he was, he seemed to have a great deal of control over it. When his brown eyes looked at Heero, the boy lowered his head in shame. While Duo was shivering from cold and pain, Heero was outright trembling with poorly repressed self-loathing and fear. Clutched in Matsuei's hand was Duo's bear, but it was as wet as Duo was, filthy with dirty water and algae. With a careless, almost cruel flick of his hand, he threw the bear into the fire.   
    “No!” Duo cried out in anguish, trying to run forward to save his precious toy, but Heero grabbed his good arm, keeping him back.  
    “Duo,” his mother admonished, approaching him with a kind, but frustrated look, “It's ruined. You can't keep such a filthy thing.”  
    In the fire, the bear's soft fur burned up quickly and the cloth curled and blackened. It's button eyes, covered in ash, seemed to gaze out of the flames accusingly.   
    “That's not why you're burning it!” Duo yelled angrily, “It was _my_ teddy! I don't care if he was dirty, he was _mine_!”   
    “Your uncle can make you a new doll,” she told him, her voice becoming sterner and Odin thought her tone was spiked with some fear, but he wasn't sure if that was fear of her own child or something else, “A better one. One that is more appropriate for you.”  
    “I don't want one of Uncle's ugly dolls!” Duo screamed in a childish tantrum that was filled with true anguish, beyond simply a child wanting a toy, “I want my teddy! It was a gift, something special! I don't want anything else!”   
    Panic and a dark fear came over his mother's expression, turning her pretty face into something ugly. She struck him, open handed, across his face. Duo looked up at her in shock, unable to believe that his mother had hit him, but his tears seemed frozen, brimming in his eyes. She knelt down and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him harshly. Duo's eyes squeezed shut as the shaking hurt his arm.  
    “You cannot talk in such a way!” she demanded harshly, “Do you understand me, Duo?! You are the mirror sacrifice, you can never have such thoughts, such selfish desires! It is wrong and you will turn your mind from such foolishness at once!”  
    Something indescribable and just as ugly as the look on his mother's face came over the boy. Odin thought that it was hate.  
    Just as quickly as the vision had come to him, it was gone and he was back in the workshop. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, hoping to keep the visions away, but he knew that it had nothing to do with his sight. The older ghost was still there and it was looking into the mirror again, it's hand flat on the surface.  
    “Murderer,” the ghost accused his reflection and Odin felt something sharp dig deep into his heart.  
    Suddenly, as though a cloud had lifted, Odin could see into the mirror. He could see Duo's reflection. But... it wasn't really his reflection. At a glance, it could be, but Odin was close enough to see the truth. It was the same size and shape as Duo, the same long, chestnut hair and blood splashed,  white kimono. It's eyes were different, though. The same shade of violet, but darker in their expression. They weren't haunted, but filled with malice. There was no regret, no sorrow there, but a kind of glee, as though this reflection was watching Duo's pain and hearing his accusation of murderer and finding pleasure in it. There was a cruel smile on its pale lips, promising something horrible. Just staring at those eyes and that smile was maddening, but the thing that caught Odin's eye, the thing that made him realize that this was no reflection, but a gateway to some dark place, where the things coming out of its back.  
    They seemed to move in and out of visibility, or more likely, in and out of reality. Some were pale and almost translucent while others were so solid, he felt that he could reach out and touch them. All of them terrible, disfigured, specters that mimicked humanity enough to mock it, all screaming and writhing, some in pain, some in laughter. He got glimpses of bony finger and sharpened teeth, dead eyes and exposed bones, strings of flesh clinging to the bone. The Duo on this side, out of the mirror, seemed transfixed by the apparition on the other side of the glass. A single tear trailed down his left cheek and dropped from the corner of his jaw, but disappeared in the air, as though it had evaporated. Again, Odin thought of rips of time.   
    It was nearly impossible to think that this boy had killed anyone with such a sorrowful, self-hating expression, but the thing in the mirror… that thing was a killer. It was in its eyes, not just the capacity to take a life, but a love for it. Odin had met enough fellow assassins that had a taste for blood to see it clearly. He took a step back, though every reasonable thought told him that running would do him no good. Not now. Duo had marked them both as murderers, but there was no companionship in that group. He knew that the thing in the mirror was just toying with him, biding its time. Sooner or later, it would rip him to shreds.  
    But then, there was Duo. Odin was smart enough to understand what he was seeing. A mirror, splitting a blood-thirsty ghost from one filled with anguish and remorse, like a barrier between the good and the bad. Every human on the face of the earth had at least two sides of them. It was the balance between them that made you who you were, compelled to do bad, or compelled to do good. For some reason that he couldn’t begin to understand, in this place, this boy’s soul, his balance between good and bad, had become something physical. If that were true, if that thing in the mirror was just Duo’s rage and desire to do violence, then couldn’t the Duo on this side be able to sway the monstrous side?   
    If he could convince the ghost that he wasn’t a murderer, that there was some good in both of them, maybe he would let him live. That concept was like grasping at straws, like trying to turn air into a solid, but he had nothing left. Either grasp at that impossibility or accept the fact that he was about to die, something that his mind couldn’t do. But… but even if all that was true, that he could put his life in the hands of a dead boy who had killed who knew how many others and walk away from all of this intact, how? He had seen Duo as a child, a little boy who had only wanted his teddy bear and to spend time with his best friend. This thing in front of him was just an echo, a shell of that person.  
    And how was he any better? If anything, he was worse than this ghost who had terrorized him for who knew how many hours, how many days. He had killed because he was good at it and had arrogantly assumed that that was the only thing that mattered. If you were good at something, you did it, because it was an easy way to make it in the world. He had never felt regret. He had never felt blood lust, either, but remembering that little boy that had cried into his stuffed bear, he felt an overwhelming sense of shame. Blood lust or not, he was a murderer and this shadow of a human held more regret than he ever had.   
    Somewhere, that little boy still existed, those regrets and that self-hatred still lingering, frozen in time. If you regretted your actions that much, you make yourself better. Here Odin had been, thinking about giving up his life as an assassin, not because he hated what he did, but because he had started to like it, when he should have given it up years ago. It had taken being a hit himself, hunted by rage and a desire to hurt, to make him see what a pathetic person he really was. Duo had been a lonely, scared boy once, and had felt a deep love for his only friend. Those memories told him that. And those feelings made him human. But, a small voice inside of him asked, didn’t those feelings and that humanity make his ghost all the more terrifying?   
    “I can change,” Odin protested, his voice sounding oddly meek as he looked at the strange reflection, “The both of us can.”  
    Duo turned to face him and as he did, he seemed to melt away, replaced by the thing in the mirror. Those two images of him, the one with tears in his eyes and the one with the eerie smile, seemed to switch places. Odin, shocked by the sight of those evil, distorted apparitions growing out of the ghost’s back and how close the spirit was to him, stumbled backwards, falling, then scrambling back to his feet. In the small workshop, there was nowhere to run or hide to. Violet eyes ripped through his soul, making his head and chest pound with a sharp pain. The wood under the ghost’s feet started to rot, cracking like the doll had.  
    Looking into those flat eyes, Odin suddenly realized his foolish mistake. This… thing was not a reflection of the boy he had seen in those memories. It wasn’t just a part of his anger, having died so young. It was evil and dark and rage, all twisted up with something horrific. If it held a part of Duo’s soul, then that soul was mad, gone insane and had only the desire to destroy everything in its path, like cancer, just growing and growing… It couldn’t be reasoned with. It couldn’t be stopped. It couldn’t even be rationalized. It was like a rabid dog, pained and crazy, but a mad dog that could think and change the very space around it. The ghost smirked at him, a cruel, superior expression.  
    “ _Is that what you believe?_ ” it asked, mocking.   
    A shudder tore through Odin’s body. The ghost’s voice was so much worse than the child’s or Duo’s. It was the sound of breaking glass, of a warped record, of fingernails clawing down a blackboard. It could barely be labeled as speech, yet Odin could understand what it had asked. Hearing that voice, those words, the whole room felt still as though death had descended on everything. It made him feel like carving out his veins.  
    “ _No one changes_ ,” the spirit sneered, it’s voice on the edge of laughter.  
    It was like hearing the voice of God telling him some ultimate truth that only it could know and understand. There were no words to refute such a thing.   
    “ _There is only this_ ,” it placed one pale hand over its heart, if it had one, and Odin wasn’t sure if it did, and dug its fingers into the white cloth.   
    To Odin’s shock, the blood that marred the kimono spread towards that hand and the ghost’s cold smile grew.  
    “ _There is only the darkness inside the human heart, the things you cannot speak of, but is rooted there. Doubt, sadness, regret, hatred…_ ” it chuckled a parody of human laughter, like it had heard it before but had never really tried to mimic it until now, and looked back towards the mirror.  
    The Duo in the mirror had nothing growing out of his back, but the back of his kimono was shredded, the worst of the blood coming from there. The cuts in the white cloth showed Odin glimpses of Duo’s bare back. The skin there was slashed to ribbons, all bloody and raw, deep cuts to the bone. He had seen his fair share of horrible things, but the sight of those wounds made his stomach turn. The ghost in front of him regarded him again, contempt for Odin’s presence clear behind its sinister grin and Odin realized that its glance at Duo had been a barb, everything it had been saying meant to hurt the other spirit, not Odin.   
    “ _The only thing that is real_ ,” it said, its smile vanishing and the ghosts rooted to its back quivering in what Odin thought was anticipation, “… _is the darkness_.”   
    The parasitic ghosts darted forward, though they remained rooted to the ghost’s back, as fast as striking snakes. Odin had a moment to wonder who was feeding off of whom, before he grabbed his gun from the back of his pants. He aimed his gun at one translucent horror, something that looked like a woman, her clothing barely recognizable as a kimono that hung open, just barely hiding her small breasts. Her mouth was sliced wide open, showing off  a piranha-like maw and the complete absence of a tongue, her pale skin splashed with blood. Her chest had been slashed apart, the cavity open and naked, her ribs dangling out and reminding Odin of the wooden planks of the wall in this room, curling out. She only had flesh dangling in that cavity, what he thought were lungs, but he couldn't see her heart. From her waist down was serpentine and trailing back towards the ring leader of the horde. As she darted to him, his gun fell from lax fingers and he wondered why he had bothered to pull it out at all.   
    “ _You can't kill what's already dead_ ,” was his last coherent thought that wasn't filled with agony.  
    The female ghost's bony, cold fingers dug into his shoulder like icy tree branches as those piranha-teeth buried themselves into his neck, right where the puppet had bit him, but this was nothing like the puppet. These teeth weren't made of chips of wood. They were sharper than knives, longer than the doll's and unlike the doll, he had nothing to grab and fling off of him. Her top teeth and bottom teeth connected and, if those teeth had been solid and human, they would have made a loud clicking noise, but there was only silence as she ripped open his neck, blood gushing down his chest in an unpleasant, wet warmth. The sound of his screaming in the hollow room sounded strange, but he didn't have the luxury of wondering why as more of the parasitic ghosts surrounded him, like jackals at a carcass.   
    A ghost that he couldn't see buried its face into his stomach and started to feed, gorging on his flesh and filling Odin with overwhelming pain as he realized that it had reached his organs. Two python-like demon-like spirits wrapped around his arms and squeezed, like steel wire. The last thing he heard before he bled out was his shoulder bones popping and snapping, like the sound of the bones of a chicken wing being pulled back, as the serpents ripped his arms from his body and he fell to the floor in a wet, grisly mess. Blood pooled on the wood floor, soaking his blonde hair. His blue eyes looked ahead at the corner where the child was crouched watching all of this with flat eyes, Odin's eyes holding the same expressionless look. The ghosts feeding on him returned to their master, still hungry for living flesh, but they were no longer interested in the assassin's body as his heart stilled.  
    The Darkness looked down at the body with coldness and distaste, but also with some satisfaction, its pupils like twin beads of blackness against the violet. The smell of death mixed with the smell of rot and age, a familiar mixture in the mansion. The old wood creaked, as though it were groaning, in either pain or glee. The child suddenly appeared at the Darkness' side and grabbed at his kimono, tugging at it like a child trying to get the attention of a parent. It smiled down at him affectionately, putting one scarred hand on the top of his head.   
    “I want my dolly,” the child whined.  
    The Darkness stroked his hair lightly with all of the gentleness of a mother.  
    “You can't have your dolly,” it said.   
    The child bit his lip and looked like he was on the verge of a temper tantrum.  
    “Why not?” it asked with childish curiosity.  
    “Because it's gone forever,” the Darkness looked down at the corpse again, “Your bear is never coming back. So many things... they will never come back...” it murmured, but it held no sadness, no regret, only amusement.  
    The Darkness smiled at the child again.   
    “Don't worry,” it soothed, “I'll find you better dolls to play with.”  
    “You promise?” the child asked with a small sniff.  
    Its smile grew from affection to malice.  
    “Don't I always find you play things?” it asked, almost sneering with cruelty.  
    The child nodded happily, smiling up innocently at the demonic spirit. Someday soon... he would get to play again. The Darkness always knew the best games.  
  
  
*****  
      
    October 13, 1888  
  
      
    Hiiro (2) struggled to keep up with his shujin as they walked across the walkway above the servants’ quarters that was barely used, but his nine year old legs were too short to really do much but chase after him. They had come here by going down the steps and into the door on the wall that none of the servants were supposed to go through, up some more stairs and into this narrow walkway, like a tunnel that was above instead of below. The tunnel-bridge was made of crisscrossed wood, like a cage, and had a triangular roof. Light streamed from the square gaps in the wood, but Matsuei-shujin carried the ornamental red lantern in his hand, casting an eerie red light in the shadowed tunnel.  
    The lighting of the shujin’s sacred lanterns, which only he was allowed to light and carry, was only done during special ceremonies, like today. The Day of Meeting was one of the most sacred traditions that the Matsuei had and it overwhelmed Hiiro to be a part of it, even if he had been training most of his life for it. The Day of Meeting was usually performed in the night, so the use of the sacred lantern was important, but his teishu was frightened by the dark, so they were holding it during the day this time. Hiiro had been born into the role of Mirror Guardian, as his teishu had been born to be the Shattered Mirror Sacrifice. His father had been a Guardian, or Hoshoga, as well, for the previous Mirror Sacrifice, but he was gone now and all Hiiro had had to look forward to was this day.  
    He wondered what his teishu would be like. Hiiro had heard his father speak of his mistress many times. She had been the Shujin’s older sister, a beautiful woman named Kyoko. She, like Hiiro’s teishu, had been first born. It was tradition for the first born of the Matsuei family to be labeled as Sacrifice, or Gisei, as it was traditional for the head of the family to sire another child once the Shattering Ritual was completed. According to the books that Hiiro had studied, it was so the second child was not tainted with the pain of the sacrifice. So, Matsuei-shujin had never met his elder sister, but Hiiro’s father had praised her, even though he had spoken about her with a great sadness. Hiiro wondered if he, too, would speak of his teishu with that sadness five years from now. Five years was not a large amount of time for a servant, but he would serve his teishu with honor and respect, no matter the time.  
    When he hadn’t been training for Hoshoga, Hiiro had been a plain servant, washing floors, cleaning dishes, and tending to the other various members of the lower Matsuei families. The mansion was divided by the lower family and the higher family, the higher family being the one that owned this mansion and Nasue, the one that was in charge of the rituals and tending to the house. The higher family had their own, select servants and the lower family and its servants were not allowed on that part of the mansion. Hiiro had known that this was the day he would be leaving the lower family forever without knowing the date when he had been presented with the soft, dark blue yukata that he wore now, instead of his drab, worn servant’s clothes.   
    They finished walking through the bridge and Mastuei led him into the higher house. Servants, wearing dark red yukata, the color of the higher family, bustled about, holding trays filled with expensive, breakfast food, and cleaning the walls to a shine. All of the doors to the rooms were open, a warm air rushing through the hall from open windows. This part of the house was beautiful, everything seemed to shine compared to the lower house. It made Hiiro worry that he should have brought a gift to his teishu.   
    Hiiro’s previous station had been far below even the servants he saw here, and his teishu was the Matsuei’s only son… he should shower him with praise and presents, especially since today was his birthday. But, the dark blue he wore marked him as a servant only to the Gisei. He was only below his teishu and Matsuei-shujin, all the servants here had to listen to him. It was a strange thing, after living his life scrubbing at floors and being bossed around by older servants. His teachings told him that it wasn’t traditional to bring the Gisei gifts, that he, himself was the gift, but he still wished that he had access to his father’s leavings so he had been able to buy something in the village. He wasn’t allowed any earnings, let alone his father’s, until today. Matsuei stopped in the front foyer, right before the door leading to the front of the house and the large gate.   
    “Your father was a loyal Hoshoga to my sister,” Matsuei said, regarding Hiiro with a piercing gaze, “I expect nothing less from his son.”  
    Hiiro slid to his knees and bowed low, his forehead almost touching the floor.  
    “I will do justice to the Yui name and serve the Gisei loyally, always, Shujin-sama,” Hiiro vowed.  
    Matsuei nodded, starting to turn to go, then paused. Hiiro returned to his feet.  
    “You will find that my son is a very simple boy,” Matsuei informed him, “He does not require, nor rejoice expensive, lavish gifts.”  
    Hiiro blushed a little, realizing that Matsuei had seen through his nervousness.  
    “What _does_ Duo-sama like?” Hiiro demanded boldly as Matsuei started to leave him.  
    He flinched as his master turned and stared at him again, expecting to be struck for daring to speak to the man. To his shock, Matsuei gave him a small, approving small.  
    “My son likes flowers,” he said simply, then continued to walk, leaving Hiiro in the foyer.   
    Hiiro kept that information in mind as he steeled himself to go outside, where his teishu was waiting for him. His knowledge of the lifestyles of wealthy people had been limited to the stories his father had told him of his trips abroad and of serving the Matsuei head family, and the members of the lower family that Hiiro had served. They had always commanded the best out of everything, with expensive and exotic tastes. That his teishu would enjoy something so simple was a relief at the same time that it was odd.   
    It was warm out, but not hot or humid as it had been for the last few days. It was a good omen, Hiiro thought, as the wind brushed his face. There were no bothersome mosquitoes or beetles, either. The blooming sakura tree in the front yard was beautiful against the back drop of the clear blue sky. Standing underneath the tree was a woman that Hiiro recognized as Matsuei-shujin’s wife, Helen-aijin (3). He had only met her twice, once when she had come to oversee his studies with Matsuei when he had been very, very young, as was tradition, again later at the wedding of one of Helen-aijin’s personal, servant girls, which had been held in the higher courtyard. Helen-aijin was easily recognizable, even from the back, having a stunning beauty like the queens from western fairy tales. Her eyes were blue, lighter than Hiiro’s, which was rare in Japan, but even rarer was her hair, the color of daffodils and gold, wavy, falling just to her shoulders.   
    This time, however, Hiiro’s attention was focused, not on his mistress, but on the child with her, who was crouched, balanced on feet, his knees bent, but not touching the ground, poking around the stone garden that had been created underneath the tree’s protective branches. If he had not already been aware that Matsuei’s child was a boy, the long braid that dangled between where his shoulder blades would be would have made Hiiro mistake the child for a girl. The shade of the tree, and Hiiro’s distance, kept the color of that hair a mystery, but he was mesmerized simply by the style of the hair.  
    He had never seen a braid before. He knew what it was from his father’s tales of woman in the west, who enjoyed tying their long hair up in the most elaborate fashions, but most of the servant girls in the mansion kept their hair short, to keep out of the way of preparing food and the hard task of cleaning so many floors in the giant mansion. Those that did have long hair kept it tucked in clothes wrapped around their heads. A few of the Matsuei women had long, black hair, but kept them up in the current style: a simple bun on the top of their heads, kept their by ornamental chopsticks or combs. He had seen a few geisha in the village wearing their beautiful, glossy black hair in such a style. It was pretty and elegant, but boring compared to the way this boy’s long, straight strands were tucked and twisted around each other, like ribbons of silk or the vines of a willow tree when the wind was violent.   
    Helen-aijin noticed his presence and turned to address him, with a slight nod of her head. Though she was not his master and he would never have to take orders from her, she was far from a servant and he bowed lowly in respect. She walked out from under the sakura, her steps elegant. She was as poised in her blue kimono as any of the native born Matsuei women, though Hiiro knew that she had been born far west, in Germany. Her child followed after her, though he had to nearly run just to keep up with his mother. When the boy realized that Hiiro was present, he hid behind his mother, his little hands grasping at her kimono. He reminded Hiiro of the little, yellow ducklings that he saw every summer in the swamp, swimming behind their mother, scrambling to keep up with her.   
    The boy, though obviously shy, peeked around his mother and stared at Hiiro in curiosity. Hiiro was startled by the appearance of the boy. From his father, he had learned that Kyoko had been a Japanese beauty with almond shaped, black eyes, straight black hair that fell about her waist, and skin the color of cream. With that image, he had thought it only right that his teishu would have the same features. He supposed it was his mother’s doing, but Hiiro could see no Japanese in the boy. His long bangs fell in his face, hair like the sun, red and gold, but with also a light, chestnut brown. His skin was pale, like milk, the skin of a boy who had spent most of his life indoors, being cared for, and not toiling in the sun as Hiiro’s tan skin was.   
    The most incredible, though, was his eyes. They were a deep blue, tinged with violet and indigo, giving them a very dimensional look. They were the eyes of Irish fairies, beautiful, but dangerous in their alluring strangeness. Helen finally realized that her son was using her as a shield and chuckled, placing a comforting hand on his head. When those violet eyes turned from Hiiro to his mother, Hiiro felt a strange loss.   
    “Now, now,” she soothed, “Don’t be frightened. This is your Hoshoga. He will be your best friend and with you always.”  
    Hiiro wondered why the boy would be frightened of him. No one in this village would dare to ever lay a hand on him. If he were allowed to walk through Nasue, he would treated as a prince, given the respect of every man, woman, and child. No… he would revered as a God, and in his way, this child was. A God that could walk among men as their savior and would, in time, truly have the responsibilities of such a deity. To harm Matsuei’s first born would be to do harm to one’s self. Only a fool would think of it. Surely, this boy realized that, had known it from habit, that he was forever safe. Yet, he seemed skittish now, like a rabbit.   
    But, even though he looked scared, he also had a strange expression as his mother mentioned Hiiro being his best friend. He looked… lonely. Hiiro understood the feeling. For eight years of his life, it had only been his father and him. They had shared a room in the servant’s quarters together, a room bigger and more opulent than the others because of his father’s status as a previous Hoshoga. After the sacrifice of his father’s Gisei, he had been given a large amount of money for his services, and had spent some of it traveling. The Hoshoga, like the Gisei, was not supposed to leave Nasue during their service, but was free to do whatever they wished after the sacrifice.   
    His father had always seemed lonely, too, and had talked about Kyoko often, having a far off, sad look in his eyes. Hiiro had heard the other servants whisper about him, saying that he was a wretched, cursed soul. They said that his father had not loved his mother, but had slept with her to ease his loneliness over Kyoko’s death, who had been his true love. Silly, romantic things that bored servants liked to speculate about. Hiiro was sensible, even at nine years old, and he didn’t protest such speculation on his father’s behalf because he couldn’t deny that it might be the truth.   
    Now, he understood a part of his father’s loneliness, having been left alone, to care for himself. Some of the other servant women had tried to take them in as their own, finding the next Hoshoga to be a lucrative position, a way to boost their reputation, only to find that Hiiro was responsible and had no desire to find another parent. Perhaps it was childish, but he had no yearning to be mothered, only wishing that his father was still with him. Compared to the love he had had for his father, nothing seemed to match it. He had always been responsible, since his father had gone on frequent trips, especially during the summer months, but Hiiro had never felt truly lonely until he had found himself alone, and hating his father for his selfishness.   
    He couldn’t understand why Matsuei’s son would seem that lonely. Didn’t he have servants and cousins to play with? Hiiro and the other servant children on the lower side didn’t have time to play with each other, and knowing Hiiro’s role, the other children had stayed far from him, leaving him to his important studies. His teishu, however, was wealthy and could order the servant children to play anything and anytime that he wished. He had relatives catering to his every whim, yet he looked at Hiiro with such curiosity, as though he had heard of the term ‘friend’, but had never really experienced it before. Helen patted her child on the back.  
    “Go on, then, Duo-chan,” she urged.  
    Duo, it was a strange name for a child, but the boy himself was strange. He shuffled out from behind his mother, starting to come out of his shyness. Outside of Natsue, Duo’s attire would have seemed strange to anyone, but here, he was easily recognizable as the Gisei. The kimono he wore was odd, meant for a girl and not a boy, the sleeves missing, like the kimonos that the prostitutes wore, to entice men, but the stark whiteness of the kimono was more somber than seductive. The kimono was traditional, worn by every Gisei since the first one. In his studies, Hiiro had read of the first Gisei, a fifteen year old girl, the only daughter of the Matsuei clan, named Reiko.   
    Local folklore told of a terrible darkness that had descended on Natsue from the mountain that the mansion had been built upon, unleashing evil in the hearts of every villager. Within just a year, that evil spread through the surrounding villages and everyone there died horrible deaths, the very land tainted with calamity.   
Shinto priests came to the Nasue mountains, but none of their prayers and sacrifices appeased the evil and many of them parished or were driven insane by the darkness. Then, a priestess named Matsuei Reiko came upon the town. She was rumored to have a great, psychic power and upon coming to the mountains where the evil had been unleashed, had a vision.   
    Reiko told the priests that only one with a great spiritual gift could seal the darkness and that they would have to be sacrificed every eleven years, or it would spread again and more calamity would fall, not just on Nasue, but on the entire world. Reiko fought with the darkness, which tore her kimono and harmed her, but her power was able to force it back into where it came. Then, her father, who had accompanied her, sacrificed her, and the darkness was locked away for eleven more years. The next year, her mother gave birth to a boy and the clan’s line continued. The priests believed that the first born of every generation of that family would be blessed with Reiko’s gift and every eleven years since, the darkness had not returned.  
    The kimono that Duo wore was the same style and color that Reiko had worn, the belief being that her sacrifice had to be repeated in the same way. It was a strange coincidence that the obi was the color of his eyes, as though it had been an act of fate or destiny. Of all the generations of Matsuei sacrifices, only three, including Duo, had been born male. The Matsuei had seen Duo’s birth as a good omen, believing that the male sacrifices were stronger and better able to perform the ritual than the females. The six year old peered up at Hiiro inquisitively.  
    “Are you really my Hoshoga?” he asked, still a little bit shy.  
    Hiiro bowed for him like he had Matsuei, on his knees, his head nearly touching the earth.  
    “Teishu-sama,” he said respectively, “I accept my duty as hoshoga, to serve you honorably and loyally, for the rest of my life and yours.”  
    Hiiro was completely unprepared when Duo, instead of dismissing or acknowledging his vow, smiled at him and extended his hand. Hiiro was awestruck for a moment, so used to the sternness of the Matsuei clan and the lessons that had been drilled in him since birth, to always be respectful, to never look a Matsuei in the eye unless he had been spoken to… but his teishu was regarding him simply as another child, a friend or playmate instead of a servant. His lessons told him to rise on his own or keep bowed, but he remembered his one true purpose: to serve the Gisei and always do what was best for him. He took the younger boy’s hand, allowing him to help him to his feet. Helen was smiling approvingly at the both of them and bowed slightly to Hiiro, who bowed back, and left the two children alone.       
    “I’m Duo,” the chestnut haired boy said, his smile suddenly bright and lacking all shyness.  
    In that moment, when the shyness left him, despite the white kimono he wore, Hiiro had a heard time seeing him as anything else except for another child. Wasn’t he supposed to introduce himself as Hiiro’s master? That was the proper greeting, and surely Duo had been trained as Hiiro had been. But he was acting so familiar, far from proper.  
    “H-Hiiro, teishu-san,” he greeted with a stammer.  
    His training had not prepared him for this, what he should do after their greeting. He knew how to act and what he would need to do to tend to his master, but nothing more than this. He was unprepared for Duo’s sudden pout.  
    “Not teishu,” he whined, “ _Du-o_.”  
    Hiiro found himself smirking at Duo’s candor and was startled by his own reaction. He was not the sort of child to find amusement in such things, or to smile that often, but this boy was so open, so trusting and informal, that it was hard to remain cold or clinical towards him. He was not at all what Hiiro had been expecting.   
    “I apologize, teishu,” he began, as his training dictated he should.  
    “DUO,” the younger boy demanded, “Why do you have to call me teishu, anyway?”  
    “Because it is proper,” Hiiro argued, “You are teishu, my master. To call you anything less, as a servant, would be rude.”  
    Duo cocked his head to the side and Hiiro was distracted by his long braid falling over his slight shoulder. For a westerner, Duo was very thin and delicate looking, shorter than Hiiro had been at that age.   
    “But… my name is Duo,” Duo argued back, his mindset truly that of a westerner, either not understanding the customs Hiiro had grown up with or just didn’t find them necessary, “Not Teishu. My parents call me Duo, nothing else,” he suddenly got a sly look in his violet eyes, “If you’re my hoshoga, then you have to do whatever I say, right?”      
    Hiiro found himself biting back a grin and felt relief that Duo did indeed know about their positions. His boldness was so different from his earlier shyness and his Japanese was perfect, having grown up in Nasue, but his manner of speaking was foreign, showing an intelligence gifted upon the wealthy. Duo probably had dozens of tutors.   
    “Yes, Duo-san,” Hiiro relented.  
    Duo huffed at the ‘san’, his breath ruffling his long bangs, but conceded.  
    “Is it true that we have to sleep in the same room?” Duo asked and Hiiro could tell that his teishu would be a fountain of endless questions.  
    “Yes,” he said, “I must be with you at all times, to better tend to you.”  
    Duo bent in the grass and Hiiro almost scolded him about getting his white kimono dirty, but Duo had been well trained and only bent low enough to pick up a rock without his kimono touching the ground. It was a skill that geisha and women of the higher class were taught.   
    “Why?” Duo asked as he examined the rock in his hand, which was perfectly round and a milky red color, “I can’t leave the mansion, and all my meals are brought to me. What is it that you are to do?”  
    “I am to make sure that you perform your duties as Gisei,” Hiiro informed him, watching as Duo rolled the palm-sized stone in his hand, “I am your companion, your friend. If there is anything you need, I will give it to you.”  
    Duo looked up at him through his bangs, that shyness returning.   
    “What if I need to tell you something, something that I don’t wish my father or mother to know?” he asked quietly, “What if I need something that this house cannot provide, or my father will frown upon?”  
    “Anything you need,” Hiiro repeated, this time with conviction, “I will give you. You are my charge, I am your guardian. Your needs, and your needs alone, are my only concern.”  
    Duo tossed the rock in the air and caught it.  
    “What if it’s something that you’re not supposed to do? If I told you to get me something in town or disobey my father, would you do it?” he asked.  
    Hiiro fidgeted, uncomfortable with the strange question. Duo, as Gisei, was not allowed to leave the mansion and in turn, he was not allowed access to anything from outside. He was supposed to remain pure, in body as well as in mind. If his mind strayed from his duties, even for a moment, his effectiveness as Gisei might lessen. One who has ties to the living world, who desires things outside of their station, could not be a Gisei. And Matsuei was the head of the household… but his duty was to Duo, not to Matsuei.  
    “I would, if you asked me to do it,” Hiiro said nervously.  
    “I won’t,” Duo whispered, looking down at the rock, and the older boy felt an incredible relief, “I won’t ask anything that you don’t want.”  
    Hiiro watched, perplexed, as Duo walked back over to the stone garden.  
    “You could,” he pointed out, “I can’t disobey you.”  
    “I know,” the longhaired boy said, kneeling to inspect the stones, “But… you said you’re supposed to be my friend. Friends don’t bully each other. My father says that I am not allowed things from the village, so I will never ask that of you. It wouldn’t be fair. I don’t want a guardian, I want a friend.”  
    Hiiro shook his head.   
    “You have many friends, I’m sure,” he said, “I am the only hoshoga for you, though.”  
    Duo looked back at him and Hiiro’s heart tightened at the look of sadness there, that shouldn’t belong to such a bright child. Duo looked back at the garden, his back to Hiiro and the Japanese boy wished he could see his eyes.  
    “No one wants to be friends with someone who is going to die,” Duo murmured.  
    Hiiro felt a sharp pain in his chest. He had forgotten, for a moment, inexplicably, just who Duo was, and what was going to happen to him in five years. Hiiro approached him, knowing what he should say, but not wanting to, even though it was his duty to.  
    “It is your duty,” he said, wincing at his own words, “If you do not perform the ritual-,”  
    “I know,” Duo interrupted, but his tone wasn’t angry, “If I don’t die, then everyone else will. Mother, Father, you… I know that and I know why none of my cousins want to play with me, because the dead shouldn’t play with the living.”  
    That statement furthered the pain in Hiiro’s heart. He wanted to protest that Duo wasn’t dead, not yet, but those words seemed hollow. This boy in front of him would never be a teenager, would never grow old or even hit puberty. It was necessary, but still strange, knowing that he was talking to someone who would die in such a short time. And the way he was going to die…  
    “I know what has to happen to me,” Duo said, placing his red rock near some grey and black ones, “I know its necessary and that its my fate to die, but I’m not afraid. I have to die so so many can live. I don’t mind dying. I just want to protect my family and this town.”  
    He stood and turned to Hiiro, who was shocked to see a smile on the violet eyed boy’s face. This boy truly was blessed with an abundance of spirit and kindness, fitting of the Mirror Sacrifice, one who loves the world and therefore is willing to be sacrificed for it… Hiiro had been raised to do his duty, so it was easy for him to say that he would do the same, but he wasn’t sure if, on that day, he could let his own family kill him…   
    “I must throw away all connections to this world,” Duo said, looking up at the sakura tree, “I must sever the connections to my parents, my family, but… I think…” his violet eyes met Hiiro’s blue ones, “I think it would be nice to have one friend…” his smile turned into one filled with devastating sadness, “… It’s lonely…”  
    Hiiro remembered his own loneliness after his father had gone and walked to Duo, taking his hand in his. Compared to his own, Duo’s hand was small and as thin as his bare arms. The longhaired boy didn’t shy away from his touch, his pale fingers wrapping around Hiiro’s tan ones. Hiiro looked down at the stone garden that the younger boy had been fussing with. The stones were all round and mostly black and dark grey, arranged in meticulous circles and various patterns, the way that the flowers in the courtyard were arranged. The cold stones were somehow beautiful and the red stone that Duo had placed stood out brilliantly. It was like a drop of blood or a flower petal against starkness. It was so much like Duo, he thought. Those violet eyes, his bright smile… he was like a red gem among dull, black rocks.   
    “I am your hoshoga,” Hiiro said simply, “I’ll always watch over you and protect you, even from loneliness.”  
    That promise felt more important than his vow to serve. He tugged lightly on Duo’s hand.  
    “Come on, I want to show you something,” he urged.  
    Duo let Hiiro lead him back into the house and didn’t protest, even when they crossed the bridge to the lower house. Hiiro knew that Duo had never been to this side, if he had, the servants would have been gossiping about it for years, but to his knowledge, he didn’t know if Duo wasn’t allowed. He was the son of the head of the household, he couldn’t imagine that Duo couldn’t go somewhere in the house. He had no intention of any servants seeing the boy, so he didn’t worry about Duo being here or causing a stir. Duo kept up with him easily and Hiiro didn’t see it, but Duo was smiling warmly as he followed the older boy through the house.  
    Hiiro snuck through the servants’ quarters, feeling like a thief in the night with the way they waited at corners for servants to leave so they could pass without notice, but Duo seemed to enjoy it. This was probably the boy’s first attempt at hiding and playing, if he hadn’t any friends before now. He didn’t think that Duo’s parents were the sort to play such games with him and he had probably spent most of his time alone or with his studies. Hiiro continued to lead him, liking the feeling of Duo’s warm, slender hand in his, until they reached the lower courtyard.   
    It was not as beautiful as the higher courtyard where hundreds of flowers and trees bloomed, but it was well kept by the servants. It was small, with just two trees: one sakura and one cedar. Most of the plants that grew here were weeds and vines, but pretty ones. There was tall grass under the cedar tree and, as they approached the tree, Hiiro pointed to it.  
    “Here, pull that back,” he told him.  
    Duo looked at him warily, as though he were expecting him to play some trick on him, while all this time he had allowed Hiiro to lead him, which made Hiiro curious.   
    “You’ll like it, I promise,” he smiled.  
    Duo knelt down and pushed the grass apart. His wary look slowly grew into one of wonder and delight as he saw, by the side of the wall behind the tree, grew a small bush of red roses.  
    “Pretty,” he said in awe, reaching out to touch a silken petal, then looked at Hiiro, “How?”  
    Roses did not grow naturally in Japan, and until he had found this bush, Hiiro had never seen a rose before, but Duo, having a mother and family members who came from Europe, probably had. Still, Duo looked at the flowers in absolute wonder, making Hiiro feel relieved and confident, having chosen correctly after hearing Matsuei’s advice about his son liking flowers.   
    “One of your distant cousins planted them some years ago,” Hiiro told him with a small, pleased smile, “This is alien soil to them, but they have thrived nonetheless.”   
    Duo knelt in the grass, his careful training forgotten and he kneeled like a child would, on his knees. Hiiro no longer felt an urge to scold him as those bright eyes studied the roses. He dug around in his yukata for the little knife he kept there for housework and reached out, cutting three rose-heads from the bush, above any thorns. Duo watched with wide eyes as Hiiro placed the delicate, crimson flowers in his hands. Duo cupped his hands around the petals, clearly enjoying the color against his pale skin and the feel of the soft petals.   
    “Happy birthday, Duo-sama,” Hiiro said.   
    Duo stared at him for a moment, then smiled, but this smile was gentle and, Hiiro dared to think, affectionate.   
    “Thank you, Heero,” he said softly.  
    Hiiro touched his cupped hand.  
    “It might be your fate to die, but for as long as you are alive, we will be together, forever. There is nothing you can do or say to get rid of me. We’re friends for life,” Hiiro promised.   
    “You promise?” Duo asked in a near whisper.  
    Hiiro nodded. Duo cradled the roses in one hand to his chest and reached out to Hiiro with his other, one pinky extended.  
    “Promise,” Duo urged and his voice sounded so desperate and needy to Hiiro, a sad little boy yearning for some companionship.  
    Hiiro hooked his pinky with his charge’s.  
    “We will always be together,” he vowed.  
      
  
  
  
End Part 2  
      
(1) Ok, so as I’ve said before, Duo is Heero’s master in that, basically, Heero is his servant, although Duo doesn’t see him that way. Heero refers to him as teishu, which means master. Shujin also means master and the difference between the two is splitting hairs, but there is a difference. Teishu translates to master, host, and landlord. As the head of the household’s only son, Duo is, technically, these three things for Heero. Shujin means head, proprietor, employer, master, and landlord. This describes Matsuei, Duo’s father, more than Duo. He is the head of the household and Heero’s employer, since he gives Heero his wages, a place to stay, and has ordered him to care for Duo. While Heero has to do what Duo says, Duo isn’t the one employing him. While it isn’t necessary for Heero to call Duo and Matsuei different honoraries, it makes it less confusing about who he is referring to.   
  
(2) From this point on, Duo’s best friend and mirror guard is written as Hiiro, while the one in the present is spelled Heero, to avoid confusion.   
  
(3) Aijin is mistress  
  



	7. Chapter 3: Dolls Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As more cuts appear on their bodies, the gang tries to figure out what to do next and what Duo wants from them. Heero manages to convince his friends that their best option is to continue to explore the mansion for information, but is it a decision he'll come to regret?

Beyond the Looking Glass  
Chapter 3: Dolls  
Part 3  
  
  
    "A house is a place of shelter. It's the body we put on over our bodies. As our bodies grow old, so do our houses. As our bodies may sicken, so do our houses sicken.  
    And what of madness? If mad people live within, doesn't this madness creep into the rooms, the walls and corridors, the very boards?   
    Don't we sometimes sense that madness reaching out to us? Isn't that a large part of what we mean when we say that a place is unquiet, festered up with spirits?   
      
    We say "haunted," but we mean the house has gone insane.""  
                                -Rose Red  
  
June 8th, 2066  
  
    'Heero, I know it is difficult, believe me, I do know, but… if I must die, and we can no longer be together, please, promise me this…'  
      
    The characters, written in an elegant, cultured script, burned into Heero's head. He felt like he had on the day of the car accident that had taken his parents' life. He felt like he was falling back into black water, like he couldn't breathe. He could feel the icy water, like pricks of needles in his throat and lungs. And he could feel the glass that had cut his wrist, making it burn like fire in the cold water. He could feel his scars there, like they weren't scars at all.   
    "He... ero..." Quatre read the stylized kanji slowly, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "that's..."  
    "His name is written the same way that I write mine," Heero said what Quatre was struggling with.  
    He felt all of his friends' eyes on him, but he didn't care. His own eyes remain solely fixed on the aged paper, the faded ink, and the perplexing characters. His name. His name, written in the same style and strokes that he always used, in a century old journal, written by the same boy whose spirit was now stalking him. How could that even be possible? He remembered the visions that he had seen while here in this mansion. Memories of a chestnut haired child playing with another child that looked exactly like he had looked as a child. A child with his same name. What did it mean? Was it just a coincidence? It had to be. What else _could_ it be?  
    Quatre studied his friend intently as the rest of them looked at him in shock. Heero was completely fixed on the old journal, his brown eyes intense and his face as pale as the rest of theirs. He couldn't even begin to understand what this could mean, if it meant anything at all. It could just be a strange coincidence. Heero had a very common name and there weren't infinite ways of writing it.     He knew that the Yuy's were very, very old family in this area, so it wasn't inconceivable that this Heero might be their Heero's ancestor. Maybe that was why he was being spared from the cuts that kept appearing on all of their bodies. Maybe Duo's ghost was mistaking him for someone he had known during his life. Quatre hoped that that was the case, because it might be something they could use.   
    "It's written the same..." Relena said hesitantly, not sure of what to make of what Heero had said, and deeply hated the burst of suspicion in her, "what does that mean?"  
    "It doesn't mean anything," Trowa said in that sharp, no nonsense way of his that was also calm and without anger, "I would be more suspicious if it was my name in that book, or Quatre's, or yours, Relena."  
    She flushed darkly, feeling as though she was being accused of something and immediately felt guilty of whatever it was.  
    "This is an old house, owned by an old Japanese family. We don't even know who this Heero person was to this boy. A brother, a cousin, a friend, maybe someone he knew in the village. Heero is a common Japanese name, and an old fashioned one. So what if it's written the same? There are only a handful of ways to write Heero. It doesn't mean _anything_."  
    Quatre could feel the turbulent, nauseating fear of his friends start to ebb away, leaving his mind thinking more clearly. Trowa didn't speak very much, he was never chatty, but he had always been good at speaking clearly and concisely and was very convincing. And of course he was right, it didn't mean anything, not in their current situation. It was a name in a journal, not a crowbar.   
    "What _is_ important is the journal itself. Where did you find it?" Trowa asked Heero, diverting all of their attention from their earlier suspicions.  
    "In Duo's room," he said automatically, as the room had easily become that in his mind, with the journals and kimonos he had seen there, "I saw it earlier, but I hadn't been able to read it then."  
    "We are moving backwards," Quatre murmured.  
    "What is that supposed to mean?" Relena asked, crossing her arms over her chest defensively, desperately not wanting to hear one of his psychic epiphanies again, not because she no longer believed in them, but because of the damning information they had about this place.  
    "Exactly what I said. _We_ are moving backwards. The full moon when the sun should have risen. Ancient writing that is now starting to become more visible. It isn't that time is starting to stand still or even moving backwards. We are. In this place, time has stopped and now, we are catching up with it. Or slowing down to meet it, however you like. See?" he held up his cell phone and the wrist watch he was wearing.  
    He had shown them before, how it was day time, even though the moon was still out. This time, both clock were frozen still, even though both his phone and watch had plenty of battery life. One by one, they all looked at their own watches and cell phones. All of them were still working, but the digits weren't moving.  
    "It isn't some kind of electrical interference," Quatre explained, cutting off Wufei before he could even start the argument, "if it were, other things would have been affected, and there's no electrical sources to cause something like this. We are trapped here. We've... become a part of this place, this... environment and now subject to its laws. If that's too scientific for you, then fine. Duo is dragging us down to the dark places where he lives. I don't know much about him, about his spirit or this haunting, but it's probably like they say in the movies. For him, time stopped at the moment of his death. Now that he has his hooks in us, time will stop for us as well."  
    "I think so, too," Trowa agreed, "I think that's why we can read this journal now. And I think that, the longer we stay here, the more... changes we are going to see around us. But instead of panicking about it, I think that we need to use it to our advantage."  
    "How are we supposed to do that?" Relena asked, panicking at this idea, that even their _time_ was being stolen from them by that... thing, "I mean, if we're going to follow movie rules, then this ghost's power is just going to grow the more that our time runs out! He's already powerful enough! What if those changes are meant to harm us? It's not going to just be limited to some journals!"  
    "That's not true," Zechs interrupted her, "I'm not a psychic, but I think that this spirit isn't growing in power. He isn't just... waiting to gain enough momentum to kill us. He's playing with us, like a little kid playing some sadistic game. He's enjoying himself. He sealed us into this place and has made himself known to scare us. I think he is just as powerful now as he was since the moment he stepped through the front door. Time stopping for us only means that he can play with us for as long as he wishes to."  
    "Not only that, he's willing this to happen," Trowa told them, "The locked doors, the moon, our watches... maybe it's just instinctual for him, but he's bringing us down to his level, but we're still hungry and thirsty. We're still tired. We aren't going to last forever and he knows that. He has to. All those people that came to this place and disappeared... they're still here. And they're still dead. If they weren't, we probably would have seen them by now. So it isn’t so much that he has brought us to the past, that’s too simple.   
    “It’s like Quatre said. This place… this _time_ is where Duo lives. A place controlled by the past that he remembers, a pocket of time that we can’t leave. I don’t think that there’s a single thing we’ll see or experience that up to his will and memories. We aren’t going to stumble upon any of the people that have been in this mansion before and it might even be the case that rescue is now impossible. Even if our parents were to come to this mansion, even if they got past the closed doors, I don’t think they’re ever going to find us. I believe they will just find an empty mansion and we’ll be nothing more than ghosts.”  
    Every one of them, even Trowa himself, felt an ice cold chill go down there spines at his words. Though they hadn’t admitted it out loud to each other, they had all been clinging to the hope of someone coming to get them out. Even Quatre, though to a lesser extent, had been hoping that he was wrong about everything he believed about this place and their ‘host’, and that being saved was possible. But with the words spoken out loud, brought out into the open like pus from a festering wound, he knew he couldn’t lie to himself about the reality of their situation. Duo never needed to shut the doors or make the windows unbreakable. He had only done that to frighten them.   
    The six of them were silent for a long time, each mixed up in their own terrible, dark thoughts. In the silence, the myriad of sounds of the house were even more awful. The creaking of floor boards above their head that might have been someone pacing upstairs or simply the old wood settling, a light sound like wind or perhaps crying, sounds that were indecipherable but somehow still frightening to them. Finally Wufei broke the silence.  
    “You’re just guessing,” he pointed out to Trowa, trying to remain a voice of reason, but his words sounded pathetic even to himself, “You cannot possibly know any of that for certain, none of us can. This isn’t a movie or some old ghost story. And even if some of those tales got it right, there are so many, we can’t possibly discern the truth from fable. We shouldn’t be concerning ourselves with why this spirit is tormenting us, but with trying to survive.”  
    Trowa didn’t believe a single word his friend was saying, hearing the fear and uncertainty in a voice that was usually so factual and sure, but he nodded anyway.  
    “But maybe that’s how we survive,” Relena piped up, “Maybe some of the old stories and movies _did_ get it right. Maybe the reason why we can suddenly read his journal is Duo _wants_ us to know what happened to him. Maybe if we can expose his killer, give him a proper burial, or whatever the reason is he’s a ghost instead of passed on, he’ll go away and we can just walk out of here!”  
    Her voice was strained and so full of hope that some part of Trowa wanted to slap her, while another part felt sad for her, sad for all of them as he looked around and saw how much they wanted to believe her. But Quatre looked the way he did when one of their classmates got an answer in class wrong and he was holding back shouting out the right answer. It was Heero’s expression that made that own hope of Trowa’s die surely and swiftly. His Japanese friend didn’t just look unconvinced of Relena’s theory, but disinterested, as though he were swept up in his own thoughts, waiting for them to catch up to him and be done with this foolishness.   
    He wanted one of them, especially his lover, to speak up, to tell them what they were thinking that made them so sure that this track was wrong, but he knew just looking at him that Quatre wasn’t going to say anything. Trowa didn’t really blame him, knowing the fair haired boy well, he knew that even if he believed the worst, he was going to try to keep it to himself as much as he could. They were all walking a tenuous high wire, one that was ready to snap and send them plummeting into madness at any moment. Trowa supposed it might be better to lie and give his friends hope if there truly wasn’t a way out of this situation. But their grasping at straws like this awoken some deep anger in him that frightened him. It was a part of him, but at the same time, it felt completely alien.   
    “Not all ghost stories end that way,” Trowa heard himself speak before he could stop himself, his voice sounding oddly gruff, “In some stories, the protagonists try all that they can to unearth the ghost’s past, but even when they succeed, the spirit kills them anyway,” his voice softened, “Sometimes there is so much hurt and rage and horror that it can never be undone. All there is, is lashing out at everything living.”  
    “But there’s no proof that Duo is like that!” Relena protested, “Besides these cuts and locking us up in here, he hasn’t really done anything to hurt us.”  
    “She’s right,” Zechs said, backing up his sister and crossing his arms over his chest with a thoughtful look on his face, “I want to know why this Duo is haunting us. He looks like a teenager, and those wounds… he must have died young and in a very violent way. All those old tales about ghosts and wrongful deaths are just stories, but the reason for them was to seek justice for crimes that could never be solved, bringing to light a secret that could never be unearthed unless the slain spirit spoke up for itself in some way. Perhaps that is all what this one is trying to do, force us to find some clue about who killed him.”  
    “You’re wrong,” Heero interrupted him, his brow furrow and looking far off, as though he weren’t so much arguing with Zechs as speaking to himself.   
    Their dark haired friend looked both contemplative and disturbed, as though he had come to some grand conclusion. His eyes cleared and he finally looked at them, none of them liking the look there in those dark brown eyes.  
    “I’m sorry,” he said remorsefully, “I don’t know why, but I didn’t realize it until now…”  
    “What is it?” Zechs asked softly, afraid of what Heero had to say.  
    Then the older boy realized that it was not Heero’s words that frightened him, but the boy himself. It wasn’t fair, and he hated himself for it, but he _was_ scared of the person he had once thought of only as his friend. Heero… who was the only one of their group not marked by numerous cuts, who could suddenly see things that only Quatre should be able to see, who had somehow had the thought to go back for a journal that no one had been unable to read until he had, a journal that bared his name… He was scared of anything that Heero had to reveal to them.   
    “There was this story my great grandfather used to tell me when I was little,” Heero said, “I… I don’t remember the exact words, my memory of it is fuzzy. He told me that, a very long time ago, all of Japan was plagued by a great, dark evil. It turned the hearts of men into those of demons, and all sorts of black spirits roamed the land, soiling the crops and killing livestock and people alike. The country was threatened to become like the abyss of hell. Just when the people had given up hope, a girl and a man appeared at the chasm, the heart of the evil. The girl was beautiful, with long hair, pale skin, and eyes the color of jeweled flowers. She was young, but was blessed with an incredible, heavenly power. She fought against the immense evil, resisting all of its attempts to pervert her and turn her clean heart to black. At last, as she was weary and tiring, she took all of the evil into herself. With all of her will, she commanded her father to break the veil the evil had emerged from and use the shards to pierce her earthly body and cast it into the abyss. The father wept, but did as she bade, taking her life with the pieces of the sacred veil, and casting the maiden’s soul as it grasped the evil into the darkness where the two of them would dwell. Japan was restored to light and to this day, the maiden in white with the jeweled eyes still holds back the darkness,” Heero finished the story, feeling as though he was missing some pieces to the story he had known since he was a child, but was unable to recall them. He took a deep breath, “I hadn’t realized the connection, or even remembered that story until I read Duo’s journal.”  
    “I don’t understand…” Relena said in confusion.  
    “Do you think that your great grandfather was talking about Duo?” Trowa asked, “That the girl in the story was actually a boy?”  
    “No,” Heero shook his head, “but I think that the details of that story are too close to what I’ve seen. My family has lived in this area… I don’t even know how long. Several centuries. My grandfather told me that the story was actually a local legend and that he had heard it from his grandfather as well. I think that the story is very old, and maybe at one point in time, it was believed by the local religion. This town used to be a place of Shinto worship, remember?”  
    They all nodded. There were still some traditions and holidays of the old religion that the town celebrated, and they had learned some of the local history in school. It was of public record that a very long time ago, the town had actually been the site of some holy place, a place that people would come to for prayer. The actual reason and significance had since been lost, but you could see abandoned temples here and there, in the deserted parts of the woods and edges of town.   
    “I think that Duo had been sacrificed, back when this town was more superstitious, because of that story,” he concluded.  
    “In his journal, Duo mentioned that he knew he was going to die,” Zechs said thoughtfully, “He acted like it was for the greater good…”  
    “It makes sense,” Trowa agreed, “All of the things we’ve seen… Heero’s story mentions a girl with long hair and jeweled eyes, wearing white. White isn’t a common color in traditional clothing, it’s considered a blessed color, something pure. Duo wears a white kimono, and he has amethyst colored eyes. Not to mention those cuts… it’s too much of a coincidence. We all saw that cell, how small it was, the chain… I think it’s logical to assume that he was a ritual sacrifice, not simply a murder victim.”  
    “Why would anyone do that…” Relena whispered, “Why would someone sacrifice a child…”  
    “The same reason why human beings have been sacrificing each other for centuries,” Quatre said, “For power, to gain favor from a God or Demon, or to quell one’s wrath,” he pondered that statement for a moment and his lips quirked into a very small, but bitter smile, “In a way, we ourselves are sacrifices, offered up to sate Duo’s lust for blood.”  
    Trowa’s horror at those words was written on the face of every one of his friends. He felt the phantom feeling of an imaginary noose around his neck, tightening ever so slowly, minute by minute. The cuts on his skin burned so badly he wanted to scratch them bloody all over again.   
    “What did they do, look for a child that fit into the story?” Wufei speculated angrily, “Did they just pick up any boy or girl off the street with long hair and violet eyes?”  
    “No,” Heero shook his head, “Duo wasn’t just some random child they kidnapped. This was his home.”  
    “How can you possibly know that?” Zechs protested.  
    “Because of his bedroom. Because of his age. And because of his journals,” the Japanese teenager pointed out, “He wasn’t just crammed into a cell when it came close to the time for him to be sacrificed. He had a bedroom filled with his own toys, kimonos fit for both a child and a teenager. Perhaps he was born into it, chosen, and the cell connected to his room was meant for the day he was destined to die. In his journal, Duo talked about accepting his fate, about knowing what was going to happen to him. He didn’t talk with anger for being murdered, but about doing his duty. He was given toys, he was cared after. He was allowed to write about his feelings.”  
    A terrible thought came to him then, a thought that he did not dare share aloud to any of his friends.  
    ‘A room full of toys, and a door small enough for only a child to go through without ducking… but Duo isn’t a child, he’s a teenager, at least fourteen or fifteen years old. If that’s what he looked like when he died… That spirit in the mirror that I saw in the Courtyard, he said that it was Duo’s father’s fault, that he had been sentimental… Did he mean that Duo should have died as a child? That the person who eventually killed him was his own father?’  
    Heero tried to think about his own father, about his kind dark eyes and the way he had held him as a child, but for a brief, terrifying moment, he could not remember what his father had looked like. The color of his hair, the shape of his face, the sound of his voice… it was all mixed up, if only for a few scant minutes, and Heero felt more terrified than he ever had since being trapped here.   
    “A sacrifice…” he murmured, “a _real_ sacrifice, is about giving up something you love. Killing a stranger, or someone you didn’t care for, could never be considered a sacrifice.”  
    Heero felt tears prick at his eyes and a deep sadness filled him, but he didn’t know why, why he felt like his heart was ripping in two.  
    “If that’s the case,” he said louder, “this isn’t a matter of finding out who killed Duo and trying to bring the truth to light,” he looked at Trowa and the taller boy felt chilled at the expression in his eyes, “This wasn’t a secret, it was something the entire community knew about, even if they didn’t talk about it. Duo isn’t doing this in an attempt to speak out and be heard. He’s lashing out in rage and pain. I don’t think there is any chance of quieting his spirit.”  
    “You’re speculating again,” Wufei pointed out, sounding tired, “He was a human once. If someone had hurt me, I would want that person brought to justice. If that were impossible, then I would want everyone to know about it at the very least. I wouldn’t want it to end with my death. Isn’t that why there are ghosts, to continue on?”  
    Wufei saw it again in his mind, his wife walking down the hallway in this old mansion, wearing her white dress, and he felt that terrible hope blossom in his chest again.   
_‘Maybe it wasn’t trick. What if… what if it had been her…’_  
    “You still don’t understand,” Quatre said softly, “People, all of us, are all looking towards our deaths. When a person is told that they will die of old age, after their full lives are lived out, they look to the future. But if a child is told that they will die in just a few years, they only live in the present. They have no future and never grow old. Such a person would always remain a child. _That_ is what we are dealing with, a child full of rage and pain, given the powers of a God.”  
    “Stop it!” Relena cried, horrified by what Quatre was saying, “Just stop saying those things! I don’t care if you _are_ psychic, or what you know, none of us needs to know those things!”  
    “Then don’t ask questions when you don’t want to know the answers,” Trowa snapped at her, “This is the reality of our situation.”  
    “Our reality,” Relena practically bristled at that, “Then what exactly does Quatre expect us to do?! Just wait here in the dark for us to starve to death, or for that spirit to kill us?!”  
    “I expect us to try and find out the truth about Duo’s murder… his sacrifice,” Quatre said calmly, “not because I think it will help us at all, but because the only alternative for us is to wait to die.”  
    Trowa looked at his lover and for a moment, he felt like he was looking at a total stranger. Quatre’s face looked so blank and empty. So dead. He did not know if his boyfriend was lost in a vision, if he was sensing something that the rest of them could not, but he felt like they were worlds away from each other. When they first walked through the doors to this place, Quatre had been set on fighting against his visions and not letting them control him. But now he was surrendering to them, Trowa could see that. Not only that, he had already surrendered to what he saw as their fate, their fate to die in this place. He would go through the motions with them, but in Quatre’s heart, they were all ghosts, walking around in the skin of the living. In that moment, Trowa truly hated Quatre, just as much as he loved him.   
    Suddenly, Quatre’s eyes cleared and he seemed to come back to them. It was like watching someone deep in a coma finally wake up, but his expression was one of terror, robbing Trowa of any relief. Quatre watched in horror as a prick of red appeared by his boyfriend’s right ear, a trickle of blood trailing down into his ear. That tiny, innocent look prick opened up and the fair haired boy felt like screaming as a large gash formed on Trowa’s cheek, opening it up all the way to the corner of his mouth. It was like watching an invisible knife rake across his face, but worse. The cut was not clean in the way that a sharpened knife would make. It was messy and ragged, deep and terrible.  
    Trowa made a sharp noise of pain as he felt something tear through his cheek. The other cuts he had sustained thanks to this mansion had been pitiful in comparison. It was just a cut, but it felt like the worst pain he had experienced in his life. What had cut him felt sharp, but thick, and he could feel it ripping through him, tearing his skin and not just cutting it, an edge that was both dull and sharp.  
    ‘ _Like thick glass_ ,’ he thought.  
    Blood gushed down his face, neck, and into his ear. Some of trickled into his mouth and he quickly spat it out in disgust. Quatre continued to stare, his face paper white, as Trowa’s blood soaked all over the right side of his t-shirt.   
    “Oh my god,” he distantly heard Relena gasped and it served to thrust him out of his stupor as he realized that this was not just one of his visions.  
    Trowa instinctively clasped his hand to the cut, trying to stop the torrent of blood.  
    “Don’t touch it,” Quatre snapped at him, and dug into his pack for the first aid kit he had brought with him.  
    He grabbed a thick piece of gauze and pressed it to the cut. In mere second, the gauze was soaked with dark, thick blood. For a moment, Quatre felt frantic, wondering if his lover was going to bleed to death. He felt something rake across his back, something too rough and thick to be a knife and one by one, he heard his friends gasp and cry out in pain. Quatre could feel blood soak into his own shirt and drip down into his jeans and boxers, but he was too worried about Trowa to care for a moment. They all grabbed gauze and tore strips of cloth from their shirts to staunch their collective bleeding. He felt Heero grope at his back as he cared for Trowa, pressing gauze against the long and thick cut.   
    These cuts weren’t just getting bigger, Quatre dimly realized, they were cutting deeper. If it kept on like this, Duo would not need to kill them, they would run out of means to stop the blood and would bleed to death. Or worse. What if one of the cuts appeared at their throats or cut into their organs or arteries? They were already running out of medical supplies.  
    Eventually, after far too many minutes, Trowa’s cut stopped bleeding. It had seemed as though it would never clot, that the blood would just continue to gush out of the deep wound as though his lover were anemic. Seeing it slow did nothing to assuage Quatre’s fears. He could feel his own wound throbbing, burning intensely as though it were infected. He wanted to scratch at it or tear his hear out at the pain.  
    ‘Is this what Duo felt as he died?’ he wondered, ‘This pain, all over his body, the blood flowing out of him as he got weaker and weaker... This terror, not knowing how to make it stop?’  
    He shivered and saw those eyes in his mind, their cold flatness, the lack of any light, and yet somehow filled with hate, anger, and an immense sadness. Was that their fate? He had only been thinking of it in terms of whether or not they could survive. But maybe he should have been thinking about what would happen to them when they did die...  
    They catalogued their injuries; Wufei had a gash across his ribs, Zechs from his right shoulder to the middle of his chest, each gaping and terrible to look at. Relena had one that trailed across her breasts, but managed to hide it from her friends and brother. If she had been with her female friends, she wouldn’t have cared about the deep gash and would have even asked for help in caring for it, but the thought of lowering her shirt for her male friends made her skittish, especially Heero. She couldn’t bear him looking at her chest like that. For the very time, she was hit by the fact that she was the only girl in this group of six. For some reason, that unsettled her. She was even glad when her brother did not ask her about her own cut.  
    ‘It will probably scar,’ she thought glumly as she looked at it.  
    ‘ _If you live long enough for it to heal_ ,’ a much more bitter voice chimed in.   
  
*****  
  
    The Remnant raised a hand, what once was real and living as the rest of it had been, but was now bloodless, as cold as wood, and covered in slashes and cuts, and pressed it to the mirror surface. He remembered the feeling of the cold glass, even though he could not feel it now. Eyes the color of amethyst marbles, with the same dullness, stared into the world beyond the mirror glass. It was dark, filled with shadows and the barest of light, but those dead eyes could see every detail of the hallway, and the six intruders that stood there. The dim light in that world was a brilliant searchlight compared to the darkness of his mirror. There was no reflection of the other world here, only pitch, blacker than the darkest night, bereft of warmth or cold or touch or sound. Just him. Him... and the Other. Yet still he pressed his hand harder against the pane, in hopes some spark in his shadow of a soul would allow him to feel its coldness, so much more inviting than the nothingness he felt.  
    He hated them, the intruders. They brought warmth with them, warmth of blood and beating hearts, laughter and tears and fear. Things that he fought to remember, but often could not. Things that had happened to him once, a very long time ago. But not to him, not really, to the other of him that no longer existed inside of him. He wanted them to leave, but _it_ wouldn’t want that. It wanted to rip them apart, to feel their warmth go cold, and then into nothingness. It wanted it like a starved dog lusted after a piece of bloody meat. A part of him, the part that belonged to it, wanted it, too. That part of him was, moment by moment, swallowing him up. Soon he and it would have no barriers between the two of them, like a broken mirror.   
    They did not belong here. This was the temple of dust and death and decay and pain. His temple... no, _it’s_ temple. Unlike the Kami that The Remnant’s living self had once worshipped, It did not require worshippers to bow or bring offerings. The Other’s prayers were suffering, it’s offerings blood and despair. It would continue on, whether it was worshipped or prayed to, or forgotten completely. To the living of the village that existed just below It’s hill, most of the Kami and the ways of old had been forgotten, but they still worshipped The Darkness, even if it was only in their dark dreams.   
    In this dark place, the intruders’ light, their warmth and living, was unwelcome. But _he_ was with the intruders. At first he had thought that he was like him, a shade. A thing with a face, but hollow inside, filled with unwanted things, things that did not belong to _him_. But some fragment, some shard of The Remnant resonated with his presence, something long forgotten and so warm that it was painful, an intruder in his very self. A part of him wanted to tear him into pieces so small, no force in heaven or earth could possibly recognize his shade as human, but another part desired to reach out, as he had done before. He wanted to feel what he had felt when the intruder had placed his hand over his on the mirror. It had hurt, a crack forming throughout him the same as the mirror, and he had lashed out. It scared him, that feeling, and yet some part of him wanted to feel it once more.  
    ‘He came back, just as he promised he would.’  
    That warmth blossomed and he wanted to rip it out of him with what had once been his fingernails. He wished that he could still bleed, still tear into his flesh...  
   _‘No.’_  
    Was it possible for the darkest shadows to grow darker still? For cold to turn to ice, for nothingness to turn to the abyss? The Remnant felt vines of ice and pain and darkness squeeze around what had once been his heart, causing the constant pain that he had felt since the moment of his death to radiate through every inch of him, as steady as a heart beat. He lived in darkness, in nothingness, but whenever the Darkness came for him, he realized over and over and over again, after all of these centuries, that he did not know what true pain was, true loneliness, true despair, or true cold. He never had. When It was there with him, in the constant dark that was now his home, he felt like he was dying all over again, like his very soul, his essence, was being shattered like thin glass.   
    Words whispered in his ear, words full of hate and glee and malice, like a child pulling the wing off a fly for the pure joy of watching the insect writhe. The shadows suffocated him, the cold made him burn, and the pain was so unbearable, he screamed as much as a wraith like him could scream. In silence, but a silence that the Darkness could hear. But for once, the thing did not laugh at the remainders of his humaness.   
   _‘No,’_ it said again, if such a thing could be described as speech or thought, though the Remnant knew that he only called it speaking because he had no other word to describe the feelings and words piercing through his head.   
    A hand... _his_ hand, and not his hand, a hand that looked like his with the same paleness, the same long, slender fingers ripped open with cuts and splashed with blood, but moved with a force that was as alien as the living beings in his house, and as familiar as the boy with the warm blue eyes and brown hair, gripped at the front of his kimono above his heart.  
    For a moment, the Remnant forgot that he no longer needed air and gasped for it. The vines around his heart burrowed inside of him and agony filled him.   
     _‘It is not him,’_ that cold voice said, _‘He may share his face and his eyes and his hands, but that is all. He is like you, a shell. A thing that looks as though it is another thing, but there is nothing inside.’_  
    Please... please I want to go to him, the Remnant pleaded without words, I want to see him, just once...  
    Those same vines around his heart wrapped around his legs, rooting him to his spot in the shadows.  
     _‘Why?’_ the Darkness asked and the Remnant could feel it’s sneer, _‘He is nothing. He is a sack of meat that looks like the man you once loved. He has the memories of another. Do you think if you call his name, he will rejoice and hold you as he once did? Even if he is that man, what reason have you to speak to him? Do you think you are that boy that died, the one he made promises to? Do you truly believe he will face you with anything but hatred?’_  
    The vines pulled the Remnant away from the mirror, away from the site of those familiar eyes, and into the Darkness. Hands as pale and as cold as ice gripped his face and the Remnant looked into his own eyes in the blackness. Eyes of rage and evil and pain and insanity. His own lips kissed his, and brought forth the taste of blood and death.  
   _‘I am the only warmth you will ever feel and I am all you will ever be. ‘I will not permit you to see him,’_ the thing smirked, _‘But I will gladly kill him for you, for the both of us. You and I can cleanse ourselves in his blood. Isn’t that what you really want?’_  
    No, no I am not you! I don’t want to kill anymore...  
    A laugh pierced through the constant silence, a laugh like shattering glass and screaming.  
     _‘You are me... and I am you. You are the same murderer as I, and you have killed thousands. You will kill the world that has caused us so much pain.’_  
    The Remnant fought against the shadows, but only felt himself be pulled further into the Darkness, smothered by it.  
      
    He felt another part of himself crack and shatter.  
      
  
     _Heero... you never should have come back..._  
  
*****  
  
      
    They somehow managed to come to an agreement that the best course for them, the only course really, was to investigate the mansion, to try to come up with some answers about the malicious spirit that was stalking them. But they couldn't seem to agree on what that meant. Trowa and Quatre wanted to go back to Duo's bedroom to see if any of the other journals were clearer. Relena and her brother wanted to explore parts of the huge mansion they hadn't discovered yet, and Wufei wanted to go back to the room with the ornate door that they had been unable to open.  
    "We already tried," Zechs tried to reason with Wufei, "and we don't have the kind of tools that would allow us to break it open. I don't think we're going to find a crowbar in this place. And even if we did, it's probably as impenetrable as the other windows and doors that are impossible to open in this place."  
    "But that's my point," Wufei argued, "Why is _that_ door locked? All the other doors in this place, besides the ones that Duo does not want us to open, are unlocked. There must be something in that room that he does not want us to see."  
    Trying to reason what a ghost was thinking, talking about his wants and intentions still made him feel ridiculous, but something about that door and their inability to open it intensely bothered him.  
    "Even if there is something in there is a vital reason why Duo is keeping that door locked," Quatre said wearily, "as long as he does not want us in there, we won't be able to go in."  
    Wufei wanted to continuing pressing, but he knew that his friend was right. They were like sheep, constantly being herded this way and that, in whatever direction this spirit wanted them to go in. If he did not want them to find out about his past, what possible hope did they have? But if that were true, why could they read that journal entry? Wufei wanted to believe that there was some kind of possibility that Duo had attempted to reach out to them through that journal.   
    "Heero, what do you think we should do?" Quatre asked the only one of them that had yet to speak up about their next course of events.  
    The fair haired boy's voice was soft, but Heero saw the calculating look in his light colored eyes. He did not need to have Quatre's gift of third sight to know what his friend was thinking. For whatever reason, be it his looks or his name, his similarity to a boy long, long dead, Duo had reached out to him. He had shown himself in that mirror in front of him, he had spoken to him out in the courtyard. Heero had seen pieces of Duo's childhood, and his words in that journal. Quatre wanted to see what Heero would say, as the one of them who had some connection, tangible or not, to the spirit that was haunting them.  
    "I think that going back and rechecking all the rooms we have been in is a waste of time," he said, choosing to say what was actually on his mind instead of manipulating Quatre, knowing his childhood friend would know he was lying anyway, "There might be something useful in them now, and there might not be. I found that journal by pure chance, there's no reason to think that we'll find any others. I think Relena and Zechs have the right of it. But more than that, I think we should track our progress. This place is huge, without some kind of map or guide, we'll just get lost. If we're really serious about exploring this place, I think that's the most logical course."  
    He saw the acceptance of his idea in all of his friends' eyes, even Wufei's, but a worry picked at him. Would Duo continue to reach out to him when he was with his friends? It seemed like each and every time the ghost had spoken to him, or given him a vision, he had been separated or distanced from his friends. If they continued to journey through the mansion like this, in this tight knit group, would Duo remain silent? With that thought, Heero suddenly resented his friends' presence and felt bitter about ever rejoining them.   
    Those feelings bewildered him when he looked around and saw all the fear in the others' eyes, their desperation in their fear to not be alone, to grab onto each other and never let go. For some reason, that same fear escaped him. He was frightened, yes. How could he not be? He was as trapped and helpless as his friends were. But at the same time, there was something about this place that did not scare him as badly as it did his friends. When the floorboards creaked above their heads, he did not jump or feel overwhelmed by dread. When cold, dead, violet eyes stared at him from the mirror, he did not scream, but instead felt sad.   
    He was scared of his own impending death, but at the same time, he kept thinking about the first time he had seen Duo. He remembered those sad, lonely eyes through the mirror. Beyond everything else, even his fear at seeing a ghost, Heero remembered how he had felt pressing his hand to that pane of glass, the cold barrier separating him from touching the spirit's pale, bloodless hand. If that glass hadn't been between them, could he have touched him? What would he have felt, nothingness? Coldness? The touch of a hand long since dead? There had been pain as something had sliced through his palm, a pain worse than any other he had felt in his entire life. A pain like a blade made of ice and agony so terrible that, for a moment, he had wanted to cut his hand off to make it stop. And then, as quickly as it had happened, that feeling had left him, and the sensation of his warm blood had actually been pleasant. But through that pain, there had been some emotion, some warmth in his heart that he couldn't understand.   
    Was it strange that he was more frightened of the visions that Duo had shown him than his actual fate in this mansion? He shuddered as he remembered the image of that man feeding his own child to the carnivorous vines. And he was terrified of seeing that other spirit again... the one in the courtyard mirror that had taunted him. His friends called It Duo, the same as the boy that had reached for him in the mirror, but Heero knew that it wasn't. It had Duo's face, but he refused to believe they were the same. All of that malice, all of that hatred, he would not believe it had come to the sweet little boy he had seen in his vision. That thought, and his desire to know what _had_ happened to that smiling child with the pet crow and friend that looked just like him, kept the fear from filling him like it had the rest of their group.  
    They double backed, going down the same hallway they had when they had come across the door leading to the courtyard earlier, but this time took a right instead of a left. A long corridor greeted them, this one looking even darker than the one they had just come from. Such a thing was impossible, but Wufei and Zechs turned on their flashlights as well Trowa's anyway. It did very little to keep the shadows at bay, as though they were eating the late as greedily as the vines outside had eaten Relena's sandwich, feasting on it. None of them spoke about it, but Heero saw it all on their faces.   
    The hallway was incredibly long, even just at a glance, straight at first, then curving off again to the right, like some large snake, with sliding doors made of rotting wood and paper leading to rooms like ribs. The group stood there for a moment, looking off into the unknown dark. Heero counted twelve rooms easy, six on each side of the hallway, and those were only the ones he could see in the weak beams of the flashlight. With a heavy sigh, Zechs dug a pad of paper out of the duffle bag he had brought.  
    "This... is not going to be fun," Trowa muttered under his breath.  
    'This was my idea,' Heero thought, looking from door to door.  
    This was just one hallway, one of many in a labyrinth... how many rooms were in this place? How many floors?   
    'At least we have all the time in the world,' he thought morosely.   
    "Ok, no one wander off, everyone keep an eye on someone else," Zechs commanded and looked pointedly at his Japanese friend.  
    Each of them took one hand in theirs. Heero found Relena's in the dark. Her skin was icy cold, but slender and soft. It reminded him of something, but the memory escaped him before he could get a proper hold on it. It was out of character for him, but as he felt her hand shake in his, he gave it a reassuring squeeze. Even in the dark, he could feel her hesitate and knew she was smiling at him, though neither of them could see each other. Something in his heart throbbed, but it was wrong. Instead of her face, he only saw the face of that little boy. That pale face with the earnest smile, and eyes like flowers, the chestnut of his hair only making those eyes seem more brilliant.  
    'What is happening to me?'  
  
End Part 3  
  
Author's Note: omg, I almost didn't make it. I missed out on posting for this story last Halloween, so I resolved to post SOMETHING this year. I wanted to finish this entire chapter this year, but between trying to get training done for my new job (nothing exciting, just an extra couple hundred bucks in my pocket every week) and getting ready for Nanowrimo, I had to rush to get to a point to post at all with this part. Hopefully it doesn't fully suck -_-    
  
Anyway, Nanowrimo starts in four hours (holy shit), for the next thirty days, I will be completely consumed in it. For further news on what I will be working on, check here: http://thegrackelknows.livejournal.com/69447.html  
  
Oh yeah and HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!   
  
I will commence writing Roads in December as usual ^_^  
  
  
  
      
      
      
  



	8. Chapter 3: Dolls Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heero and his friends find themselves separated from each other in a maze of rooms. Heero sees one of Hiiro's memories of falling further in love with Duo.

Beyond the Looking Glass  
Chapter 3: Dolls  
Part 4  
  
  
June 8th, 2066  
  
  
    His entire life, Heero had felt different. He supposed that all teenagers felt that way, that they didn't fit in, didn't belong, but he had felt that way since he had been little. He had always felt like there was this great, gaping hole in his life. He had tried to fill that hole with so many things, games and sports and reading, but nothing was quite able to. He had liked tinkering around with computers at first and his father had had hopes that he would become interested in engineering, but Heero hated new things. Every time some new piece of technology came out, he felt resentful and too frustrated to start from scratch.   
    The Yuy family had existed in Nasue ever since the village had first been founded, or so his uncle Howard had claimed. Heero supposed it was true, since many of the older families seemed to highly respect him and his relatives even though they were just simple bakers and he had often wondered what the family business used to be back then, if they had always been bakers or had just fallen into it. He was a failure at that, too. His parents had tried to teach him the business from a young age, but he had been terrible at everything he had tried to bake. He hadn't had much interest in it, either, although he had felt guilty he wouldn't be carrying on the family tradition.   
    Even in his own skin, Heero had felt uncomfortable, looking towards the future with fear. He didn't want to go to college so far away from home, and he had no idea what he wanted to do with his life. He was an avid studier and had good grades in all of his classes, but no real interests, especially not like his friends who clung to specific things with such passion. It made him feel empty inside, like there was something inside of him that he had failed to find after seventeen years, some spark, and had hoped fervently that he would find it soon and his life would finally, finally start.   
    But it still hadn't. His parents and his uncle had tried hard to find colleges for him to apply to, to find something he might be interested in, but they all felt the same to him. For a very long time, he had viewed his future as something that just didn't matter. He felt like he had spent his life waiting for something to click inside of his head, for something to come along and activate him, like a newly created piece of machinery. His parents had thought he was depressed, and Heero supposed that was true, if this was what depression felt like, but no amount of therapy or medication had helped.   
    The times when Heero felt the most natural, the happiest, were in his dreams. He knew that these feelings were just manufactured by his own subconscious, and he never really remembered what he dreamt about, only that when he awoke, he felt like he wasn't waking up at all. He felt like he was falling asleep into his life and what he dreamed about was the real thing, the _right_ thing, if only he could remember. He wasn't lazy like his friends thought. He slept as much as he could because he just liked his dreams more than reality.   
    Then one night a year ago, his father was driving him and his mother home from a movie. They had gotten onto the bridge that spanned over the Dragonfly Pond, a stupid name since it was actually a small lake, when a drunk driver had crashed into the side of the car. His mother had been killed by the impact. Heero should have been killed also, when the other driver had pinned the car to the guard fence, if that fence hadn't been taken down for construction. Their car had been pushed off the bridge and into the lake. Later, the police would tell him that his father had been pinned down and drowned while he had been unconscious, that the only thing that had saved Heero was that his side of the car had struck the edge of what was left of the guard fence, making his window crack, and the impact of hitting the water had only made that damage worse. That, and he hadn't gotten knocked out like his father had.   
    Heero remembered very little about that accident. He remembered falling into darkness, and a voice that he had taken for his mother's telling him not to fall asleep, to not leave them, but that was of course impossible. He vaguely remembered a voice pleading that they didn't want to die, but that had probably been his own. It had been that voice telling him not to sleep that had kept him awake enough to break open the damaged window and swim to the surface. Beyond that, it was the darkness and the cold that he remembered most, and the terrible pain as the glass had slashed up arms, and a strange pain around his neck. His doctors later told him that that pain was from the seatbelt twisting around his throat, but as he had swam, it had strangely disappeared.   
    After that, all of his dreams had turned into nightmares. Whatever he had dreamed before, he remembered these. It was always the same nightmare, drifting in that black, icy water, the glass cutting through his skin as something choked him, screaming for his parents as that voice burrowed into his head, a voice that he had mistaken for his mother, telling him that they didn't want to die.   
    Now, standing in a hallways that seemed filled with rooms, a hallway in a mansion that had every likelihood of being his tomb, with the image of the same boy whose ghost was trying to kill them in his head, Heero felt like he was dreaming again. He didn't feel like this was real, it felt _too_ real, the way his dreams always did. He and his friends were being toyed with like cattle, but he was the only one not terrified. He was scared, he wasn't suicidal, but also felt... he wasn't even sure. Engaged, alive... The prospect of seeing that spirit again did not frighten him. He _wanted_ to see him again. He knew how fucked up that was. He never felt affection for anyone like that, this... _connection_ , and it was to someone who wasn't even alive. Whatever was happening to him... were these his own feelings, or was Duo or this place manipulating him somehow?   
    The hallway seemed almost endless, their flashlights not even reaching an end to the row of doors, so the group of friends went methodically down the row of rooms, trying one door, then another. Zechs tried to open the first door on the left side of the hallway, but the door was so warped, it wouldn't budge no matter how hard he pushed on it. A lot of the doors were similar, too degraded to open or something was blocking the way, although the cloth and wood were so rotted that they could glimpse into most of the rooms enough to see the vague shapes of the rooms and a few details; tatami that had once been immaculate but were now as rotten as the doors, turned a dingy, disgusting looking brown by time.   
    Wufei got lucky at the third door on the right side of the hallway. The door was in better shape than the previous ones and slid open with little effort. Given the sheer number of doors in this hallway, Relena had been expecting a small, single room, perhaps a place that had been used for storage or for servants. Instead, that one, single door opened to reveal a sort of maze of further rooms. None of the rooms were large, but there were four of them connected by nothing more than a sliding door to each and with each of them being perfect clones of each other.   
    Each room had space for a futon, a closet, some cabinets and dressers, and various decorations ranging from a few dilapidated scrolls pinned to the walls to lanterns and the furthest room in the back even had an old koto that, in its time, would have been quite beautiful. They each stood in one of the rooms with Zechs staying out in the hallway, keeping an eye out for any trouble, not that he could do anything if that spirit showed up again, but he also didn't like the shape of the room. He couldn't quite explain it, but the twisting formation of the maze of small rooms made his feel claustrophobic. In the third room, Heero got on his knees and opened up a small cabinet.   
    Inside was an ornate kogai comb made of blackened ceramic and tortoiseshell with tiny white and gold flowers painted on it. It had held up better than the doors of the rooms and the tatami mats that covered the floor, but Heero still hesitated to touch it, knowing that at one point in time, it had adorned some lady's hair.   
    "What are these?" Relena pondered in the room next to Heero's, lightly touching the koto on the floor, plucking one string with an incredible delicacy, the note so out of tune and garish that it was almost offensive to hear, "Servant's quarters?"  
    "No," Heero responded, gaining the attention of Trowa and Quatre in the front two rooms, Trowa touching an old obi with the same delicacy that Relena had touched the koto while his lover looked through the closet in the first room. The Japanese teenager dared to pick up the comb, illuminating it with his flashlight so Relena could see, "Servants wouldn't have the money for these sort of things, but these rooms are also too small for members of the Matsuei family. I bet these were rooms meant for their guests or maybe lower members of the family. A single family probably lived in each room, which is why they are segmented into smaller rooms like this," he theorized.   
    "If this entire hallway is just guest rooms," Trowa mused, putting the obi down, "I wonder just how many rooms this place has. Where did the main family and the servants all sleep? Just how long will it take for all of us to explore this place? It's no wonder why there's never been successful investigation of this place any time someone goes missing in here. Without a map, it's insanity to try to find anyone in here without getting lost yourself."  
    Heero wondered at that himself as he placed the comb back into the cabinet. Just how many people who had gone missing in this place had been killed by the spirits here? Did they even die that way, or did they all just get trapped or lost? How could they hope to get any information about something that had happened hundreds of years ago when it this entire place was essentially built like a maze with no exit?  
    Heero moved on to a set of ornate dressers to rummage through. On top of it was a round hand mirror with a red tassel tied to it's handle. He picked up it gently, certain that it had to be damage or especially filthy after all these decades, but when he looked into it, his own reflection met his eyes clearly. The small mirror wasn't cracked. It didn't even have the deep layers of dust that everything else in this place had. It, like all of the other mirrors Heero had seen so far, was pristine and perfect, as though it's owner had placed it there that very day, instead of two hundred years ago.   
    That thought sent a deep chill crawling down his spine. Everything here looked rotten and filthy, haunted by age and stillness. Everything, except for the mirrors. It was like time had let them be, or it had been scared off by something. None of the mirrors he had seen in this place had a speck of dust on them or a single crack, their flat, reflective surfaces like stagnant water.   
    'This is where he lives,' Heero thought, touching that perfect surface lightly with his fingers, 'Inside the mirrors... that's where I keep seeing him.'  
    He lifted up the mirror in hope that he might see a glimpse of Duo somehow, but all he could see was the rest of the room behind him, illuminated by his friends' flashlights; a shoji screen that was badly eaten away, the closet slightly ajar, a decorative wall scroll that was now illegible, and a tiny doll laying on the floor behind him with a white face, black hair, and red kimono that bulged out at it's stomach, either by some sort of design to make the doll look chubby, or perhaps its stuffing had become inflated with moisture. He couldn't see anything supernatural in the mirror, Duo or otherwise.   
    Mirrors... this mansion was full of them, he realized. That, in itself, was not extraordinary. His own home had quite a few mirrors, but this place was _infested_ with them. There seemed to be at least one in every room of the mansion. He probably wouldn't have even realized that if he hadn't seen that one in the courtyard that that menacing spirit had appeared in. Why would anyone place a mirror outside like that? What was the point? And that thought he had just had about Duo living in those mirrors, what proof did he have of that? Yes, he had seen him in the mirrors, but they had all seen him outside of them as well. Still, he had this overwhelming feeling that that thought was right, wherever it had come from.   
    If that really was the case, and that spirit was originating from the mirrors and not simply using them to frighten them, why were there so many in the mansion? As far as Heero could theorize, Duo had been murdered in some kind of ritual. Even that he wasn't sure of, but again, he felt that rightness, and it seemed logical at the same time that it didn't. There were very old legends in Nasue about this sort of thing, and it had happened a long time ago. Duo's journal had talked about his knowledge of his death, and his desire to do the right thing, but did that really mean his death was because he had been... offered up for some reason?   
    But those horrible cuts on Duo's body bothered Heero. There was a bruise around the spirit's thin neck, but he someone knew that wasn't what had killed the boy. He hadn't been burned alive or had his heart cut out or even his head loped off. Those cuts were gruesome, hinting at a truly horrible death, and they were deep. Above all, they weren't neat or ritualistic looking. They looked like something a psychopath had done, someone with a great deal of rage or passion would do to someone they had once cared about.   
    The legend that Heero's grandfather had told him spoke of a father offering up his daughter to some great darkness. Had Duo's father done that to him? And if it had really been a ritual, why the mirrors? There were all kinds of superstitions about mirrors, but none of them good. If the people who lived in this mansion were religious enough to believe that killing their child would stop some evil, why would they place mirrors, things that practically every legend Heero had ever heard stated contained spirits or were gateways to realms of the dead, all over this place? What purpose would they serve beyond tempting fate that such rituals might invite evil spirits into the place? That sort of logic was insane even in an age where such superstitions were usually laughed at.  
    'If the sun never rises,' he suddenly thought, painfully, 'if this day never changes, it'll be the anniversary of my parents' death for the rest of my life.'  
    So many questions. It made Heero feel like his brain was going to explode, all the things that they didn't know and all the things that they needed to know to survive this. He remembered how Duo had looked as he had reached for him inside of his mirror, that sad, pleading look. He just had this overwhelming that this was what he wanted, for them to be looking for some kind of evidence, to help him. Although that might have just been his own wishful thinking.  
    Suddenly, in the mirror's reflection, something moved. Heero was immediately on alert, his dark eyes scanning the mirror's image to see where the movement had come from. He expected to see that white clad figure standing in the corner or some kind of vision like he had seen in the courtyard, but he couldn't see anything out of place behind him.   
    The doll twitched. It happened so quickly, for a moment Heero thought he was imagining it, but then it happened again. The doll's arms twitched, like a small child raising it's arms up to be held, or more accurately, someone having a seizure. It was disturbing to see, something that couldn't possibly be real. Heero whirled around to face the doll.   
    He had seen so many horror films with Zechs and Relena, he fully expected to see absolutely nothing outside of the mirror image. So when he saw the doll move again without the mirror, it was even more disturbing. This time, it turned it's tiny, round head and seemed to stare at him, it's button eyes gleaming in the dark. Heero felt that chill go through him again. The doll raised one arm again and held it in the air.  
    'It's pointing at something,' he realized with such an incredible feeling of surrealism, he wasn't sure if any of this was actually happening at all.   
    He looked where the doll's arm was pointing to, the far corner of the room, but the shadows there were so black, he couldn't see what might be there, if there even was anything, and he was too frightened to take his flashlight off the doll. He wasn't even sure what he was frightened of, but the sight of that thing moving with it's decayed stitches and beady eyes and just... _wrongness_ , scared him more than the possibility that something was lurking in the corner of the room. When the doll fell motionless again, it's arm falling to it's side like a string had been cut, it didn't give him any comfort at all.  
    Was Duo doing this, he wondered as he sat down next to the doll and reached down to pick it up, animating the doll to give him some kind of clue? That's what it seemed like to him. As Heero cradled the small doll in his hands, the kimono over it's bloated stomach rippled and contorted. He touched it lightly there, expecting to feel stale stuffing but instead felt something hard, something that felt repulsive and bizarre to him. Just as he was about to pull the kimono aside to see what was inside the doll, the fabric bulged out grotesquely and a large centipede slithered out of the doll's kimono and up his arm.  
    "Augh!" he cried out in disgust, the centipede's horde of legs like pinpricks as it crawled up his naked skin, it's long body reminding him of a snake.  
    "Heero!" Trowa called out, hearing his friend scream, but Heero was too concerned with creature making its way towards his face to care about what his friends were doing.  
    Heero grimaced in pain as the centipede viciously bit his arm, the feeling like being shocked by an electric socket. The Japanese teenager grabbed the centipede in a tight fist, the feeling of it scrambling in his hand more horrible than feeling it crawling up him, it's guts drooling out at the violence of the boy's grip, and he threw it against the wall like it was a violating demon instead of a very large mukade centipede and watched with perverse pleasure as it curled up into a spiral ball in its death throes. He clamped a hand to the bite wound, feeling it's searing heat. For a single moment, in the very corner of his eye, in the shadows that the doll had pointed at, he thought he saw a child sneering a him in the darkness. A child wearing a blood stained kimono. A child with long, brown hair, and violet eyes that seemed to glow in the blackness.   
    Relena screamed as a child's laugh filled the silence, a sinister, taunting, ugly sound, the sort you might hear from a child in the process of watching a bug squirm after they had stabbed it with a pin. Blood stained the yellow parchment of the shoji screens and wall paintings, like stale gauze over a deep wound. It spilled out of the wood of the walls and seeped into the tatami floor, filling the air with it's thick, coppery stench. As that horrible, sadistic laugh continued, Heero's flashlight flickered feebly and he saw his friends' flashlights do the same, dying lightning bugs casting long, decaying shadows around the walls of each of the rooms. Heero felt intensely dizzy as the child's laugh pierced through his ears like it was a siren, the flashing lights making him feel both drowsy and sick.   
    He thought that he could hear his friends screaming as their only source of light, only source of comfort, died out one by one, leaving them as stranded as if they were world's apart. Heero felt himself falling to the floor, the tatami wet and warm under his cheek. It felt like it was alive, like he was lying on some large, pulsating heart beating out it's last life-blood. He heard something slam shut and then, there was only blackness.   
  
*****  
  
    Hiiro blearily opened his eyes as the morning sun found it's way onto his sleeping face. Just as he did every morning, he climbed out of his futon in mere seconds, rolling it up to be cleaned by one of the many servants, and shrugged out of his bed clothes and into his dark blue yukata and hakama. He forwent his haori (1) as it was already hot and it was only early morning. He quickly slipped his feet into his geta and snatched his ring of keys from the top of his dresser, tucking them into his obi.   
    His teishu always awoke early, so if he didn't hurry, Duo-san might start his day without him, and as of late, he had been waking earlier and earlier every morning. Heero had asked him about it only once and Duo had responded that with the ritual quickly approaching, he had more use for wakefulness and less for sleep. 'Soon,' he had said, 'I will be asleep for eternity. Besides, what use are dreams and restfulness to me?'  
    Heero got on his knees in front of the small door that led to his teishu's room. When he had been younger, he had been able to get through the door quite easily, as it had been built for someone much younger than his seventeen years, but he now had to remain on his knees to get through.   
    "Teishu-san," he called as he knocked, but somehow knew he would get no answer.  
    There was only silence and Heero sighed.  
    'Again,' he thought regrettably, but still unlocked the door and crawled through.   
    Duo, predictably, was not in his room, but everything was as immaculate as he always left it when he started his day, even his futon was neatly folded up, even though his teishu knew that it would be washed later. Hiiro sighed again. He wished that Duo would at least wake him up instead of vanishing like this. It always frightened him, not knowing where his charge was, but Duo always seemed hesitant to bother or wait for him.   
    The Mirror Sacrifice had a full schedule every day between his morning ablutions, meals, prayer, and studies, but Duo did not always adhere to them. Sometimes when Hiiro awoke to find him gone, he was talking a walk in his garden. Other times he was in his library, reading, and others he was in the courtyard spending time with his crows. Hiiro only prayed that Shujin-sama did not discover that he so often allowed Duo to wander off alone, shirking his duties. At this time, it was impossible to tell where he might be, so Hiiro began his search in the same place he did every morning, the Tsukinikagami (2) Shrine, where his teishu began his morning prayers.   
    Heero crossed the main courtyard brusquely, wondering if Duo-san would want to take his breakfast in his own private courtyard or by the river, or if he would want to take it in his room like he had yesterday because of the heat. Although Summer had just started, it had been terribly hot that week and Duo hated the heat more than the cold. Heero could understand. It upset his charge's stomach and made his very pale skin burn no matter what they tried to prevent it.   
    Duo didn't have much love for the cold, either, but his family went well out of their way to make sure he was never troubled by it in the Winter, that he didn't so much as get a cold, let alone pneumonia. His room was always well heated. His teishu enjoyed the winter because it was the one time of the year where he could wear a heavier kimono over his ceremonial one. The health of the Mirror Sacrifice, after all, took precedent even over tradition. Heero could not blame Duo for disliking his pure white, sleeveless kimono, but it was his duty and the boy understood that.   
    Hiiro ignored servants and members and guests of the Matsuei family as they all bowed respectfully to him as he past them on his way to the large, thick fence that surrounded the courtyard on the north side. Even after all these years of serving Duo as his Mirror Guard, he felt self-conscious by such displays of respect. It was only just for the one that took care of the sacrifice, the only one who served directly under him and guarded him with his life, but it still made him feel strange. Before he had met Duo, Hiiro had been a servant, just like the ones that bowed to him now.   
    Before Duo, Hiiro's days had been filled with cleaning the mansion, washing clothes, studying for his future duties, and bringing the Matsuei family and their guests their meals. He had known what he had been born into for all of his life, it seemed. The Yuys had had the honor of performing this service for the Matsuei family since the very beginning of this tradition, his father had told him. The Yuy and Matsuei families, he had said, were bound by something even stronger than blood, and always would be. His father had been the Mirror Guard for the Shujin's older sister, and his father had been the guard over the previous shujin's older sister also, and Hiiro's great, great grandfather's charge had been Shujin-sama's great, great uncle, the last Mirror Sacrifice since Duo had been born that had been male.   
    Hiiro remembered feeling sad when his father had explained his duty to him the last time before he had disappeared from the mansion. He had been old enough then to really understand what his father had been telling him all of those years. He hadn't felt sad because his future had been planned out for him even before he had already been born. It was an honor to be chosen to guard the Mirror Sacrifice, someone more important than the Shujin himself. Without the Mirror Sacrifice, the entire family and mansion would not only be doomed, but the entire town and country, and, if the legends were to be believed, perhaps the rest of the living world as well. Guarding the future of the world, the lives of every person in Nasue, in this mansion, was a daunting thought for anyone, let alone a child.   
    He had felt honored and frightened, but not sad that there was no other path for him. In a way, it was a comfort. Many servants had come and gone in the mansion, and it was worse in town. Unlike Duo, Hiiro was allowed into the village, and he saw first hand the sort of life one might have if they weren't born into privilege or with some unique skill. For him, he had never had to worry about being fed, clothed, or given a home. He would never have to worry about work or his family. He would always be cared for and he enjoyed freedoms that most men had to work their whole lives for, and most still would never obtain. What had made him sad was the knowledge that his future, his life as the Mirror Guard, was a fleeting thing.   
    Hiiro's father had disappeared a year before Hiiro had been taken to the private courtyard and met his young charge. A year of understanding how cruel his duty was, before he had truly realized that cruelty at all. It was his task to see to it that the Mirror Sacrifice remained healthy and safe, but it was also his take to make sure that Duo never strayed, that he remained pure, his mind always fixed on his sacrifice. All of it, all of the years, would lead to that sacrifice, and then Hiiro's duty would be finished. Duo will have fulfilled his birth right and Hiiro would be free to live the rest of his life however he wished, provided that he continued the family line and brought another Guard into this world. Even if he didn't, there were other members of the Yuy family, although that was not ideal.   
    Seventeen years Hiiro had devoted his life to this duty, the only duty his teishu would ever know, but that seemed so little, such a worthless sacrifice compared to what Duo was prepared to give. As a child, he had thought it would be easy. In the tomes he had read, the Mirror Sacrifice was this perfect being, more like a God than a person. They were always beautiful, serene, wise, and spiritual. Looking after one had seemed simple, just follow them, deliver their meals, make sure they were cared for and comfortable before the ritual was performed.   
    He had had this image in his head of his charge, the same image he had seen painted in one of those books, a prim and proper maiden with long brown hair, perfect posture, and a gentle smile. He had expected to just be another servant, to be detached from his teishu beyond just following his orders. Then he had met Duo-sama.   
    Beautiful, serene, gentle, and perfect. Duo was all of those things. He was everything Hiiro had read about, everything one that would sacrifice their soul for those that he loved should be. But Duo wasn't just some painting in a book. For all of his studies and preparation for this duty, Hiiro had never really thought about what it would actually be like caring for such a person, a child. He had thought he would be detached, that it would be easy, if intimidating. He had thought of his future charge as a God and had completely disregarded the fact that he was a human being.   
    Duo was the sacrifice, the one that had to be perfect and never waver in his duty, but Hiiro had never thought of his humanness. Duo prayed and meditated six hours every day. He had read and studied more about the ritual than even Hiiro had. But there was so much more to him than that, so much more than just his duty and Hiiro had not anticipated that.   
    Duo liked flowers, liked looking at them and taking care of them. He loved birds and reading, he hated the heat and being indoors for long periods of time. Duo liked sweet things and hated foods that were spicy or pickled. Around everyone, especially his parents, he was reposed and perfect, but when it was just him and Hiiro, he would smile this brilliant, beautiful smile. This smile wasn't anything like that perfect, gentle one he would give his parents or the monks he prayed with. It was passionate, alive, and fiery. Every time Hiiro saw it, he would realize that that smile was his. It was a smile just for him, and every time he realized that, his own heart would burst with heat.   
    Detached... just thinking of that now made him want to laugh so hard that he would cry. There was some part, some secret, hidden part of himself that saw that smile and wept for how cruel the world really was. It cried for that human part of Duo, the part that had only become pronounced and lovely over these last few years, stolen years where his charge... no, his friend should have been buried, the part that was an abomination, something that he should have tried much harder to snuff out. But in reality, all it was was Duo, the way he was, and while it frightened Hiiro to see that smile, he wasn't so sure it was something bad, either. He hoped it was something that would give him the strength to do his duty and that Duo, his friend who loved life so much, wouldn't have any regrets. Thinking all those things made him understand, where he had been unable to as a child, why his father had looked so sad all the time. Thinking of what would happen to him when Duo was gone was unbearable.  
    Hiiro unlocked the door in the courtyard fence and stepped through, locking it behind him. Only higher members of the Matsuei family, the monks, miko, and Duo were allowed to meditate and pray at the Tsukinikagami temple. For the rest of the household, there was a smaller temple and shrine connected to the west side of the mansion. He walked across the stone pathway that crossed over the stream that flowed through this area between the courtyard and the hill where the temple was built.   
    Thick trees grew along the stream, along with patches of moss that always grew out of control around this time of year. Duo, who had a deep love for this sort of subject, had told him that if it were not for rigorous grounds keeping, this area of their property would have become a wild swamp by now, impossible to pass except by boat. His charge loved to come out to this stream when it was warm enough out. There was barely any current, just a steady trickle, and Hiiro often saw small fish he had no hope of identifying.   
    Sunlight peeked through the trees, dappling the water like there were diamonds hiding in the sandy bed. The water was a deep aqua, water that suited some far off, exotic land. Yes, he thought, Duo would want to take his breakfast out here this morning. After a long morning of prayer and meditation, he would want to eat in the warm, shady quiet and dangle his feet in the water, although his father would be angry if he found out that Duo did such a thing, even though his son was always very careful to make sure his kimono never got wet.   
    The stony path crossed over the stream until it became a trail through the thick woods and up the hill. The trees here were not as well managed as those by the stream and grew so high and so close together that one was lucky if they saw any sunlight through them. Duo-sama had not liked these woods at first as a child. He had said that they frightened him, so dark they were like the woods from the western stories Hiiro had read him.   
    One night, against his better judgment, and hearing from Duo that he often thought of monsters or ghosts living in these woods at night, he had snuck the younger boy out of the mansion and onto this path. Duo had clutched at Hiiro's yukata and trembled behind him until he had seen the entire woods lit up by fireflies and heard the hooting of some nearby owl. He had said it was like watching secret fairies dance, something that had been made just for the two of them. Hiiro remembered that night, and all the other nights he and Duo had come out here to watch the fireflies dance, perfectly, although sometimes it felt like it had only happened in a dream.  
    The huge stone stairs that led to the shrine and the shrine's many torii (3) loomed ahead of Hiiro. As a child, leading his even younger charge up those steps, Hiiro had felt like they had been built for some great giant, so used to the smaller shrine for the rest of the household. Even at his seventeen years, the torii were impressive. According to his history lessons of the Tsukinikagami shrine, originally all of the torii had been simple shime torii and these were the first three torii that greeted him on his long trek up the steps; the wood posts weathered after hundreds of years and even the shimenawa looking a bit aged.   
    There was an old legend that stated that the ropes used in the Mirror Ritual formed the shimenawa on these three torii, but Hiiro's father had said that that was nonsense, the ropes remained in the hanging place and the shimenawa were just simple, purified ropes. No one knew how long ago the shime torii had been constructed. Some of the monks claimed they had been constructed even before the mansion, while others said it was afterwards. The last four torii that Hiiro passed were kasuga torii which, according to the monks, had been constructed long after the shime had been, after some sort of tragedy. Their red stone was a welcome sight to him, signaling the end of the stairs.  
    The sando was already swept clean of leaves and dirt and Hiiro would have cursed if he had been anywhere else. If the monks had already done their morning chores, he was later than he thought he was. Duo might already have gone into the shrine for his prayers, one of the few places Hiiro could not go with him. Across the sando, past the twin chozuya and long rows of toro, the ornate kaguara-den where he was sure the miko were practicing, and sessha loomed the large shrine. Hiiro went directly to the chozuya that lay on the right side of the sando, further down from the left chozuya near the toro.   
    Hiiro had visited one of the shrines in Nasue and knew well from history sessions that the Tsukinikagami shrine had been built different from most other shrines to cater to its purpose; to house the Kami that the Matsuei family worshipped. This shrine was partially unique due to it's two chozuya. The first one, on the left side of the sando, had been built like the other chozuya Hiiro had seen, a small place of running water for the monks and visitors of the shrine to purify their hands of uncleanness.   
    The chozuya on the right side, however, had been specially built for the Mirror Sacrifice. It was a small building that had similar running water and seemed similar to the bathing quarters in the mansion. It was the place where his teishu went every morning to perform his ablutions in privacy. He was never to be disturbed when he was performing this ritual as he had to concentrate on cleansing his body of any uncleanness, any imperfection, and it was a grave sin for anyone save the Shujin or the Guard to look upon the sacrifice's body bereft of his sacred garb.   
    For the very first time, when Hiiro reached the chozuya, the door was ajar, just slightly. Duo always closed and locked the door when he was performing his ritual. Had he really already finished and gone on into the temple? Hiiro touched the door lightly and tried to listen for signs that Duo was there. He could hear soft sounds, but nothing that sounded like he was still washing himself. He could have called out to him or knocked, that was what the logical part of himself told him to do. Instead, he found himself opening the door enough to peer inside, unable to stop himself even as something in him warned him that just because he was late, it did not mean that Duo was finished.  
    Hiiro's blue eyes widened as he looked inside the chozuya. Familiar, pale white skin greeted him and he almost bolted, startled, but something kept him rooted to the spot. He had expected to find Duo putting on his undergarments perhaps, or even naked, so the image before him was alien. Duo was kneeling on the floor of the chozuya, filling up a basin with the flowing water from a narrow gap in the side of the floor that had been tapped from the stream.   
    He was completely naked from the waist up but was inexplicably wearing dark blue hakama embroidered with blue butterflies, a garment that was worn during the ceremonial dances and not something Duo should be wearing. Even more startling, Duo's fair skin was covered in sweat, his cheeks red from exertion that was not just from the warm weather. Hiiro puzzled on what his teishu had been doing instead of his usual prayer and studies this morning, but all such thoughts were purged from his mind as the fifteen year old lifted the basin over his head and poured the water over himself.  
    The crystalline water formed tiny rivers as it streamed down Duo's half-naked form. Hiiro watched it with rapt, intense attention. He knew his teishu's body, he had helped him dress enough times, but this was different. Every curve, every flat expanse of white-pale skin that those water droplets caressed was wonderful. The chestnut hair that draped over him, clinging to his arms and back and hips, accentuated his paleness and for a moment, and not for the first time, Hiiro had a hard time accepting Duo's realness. It was like looking at a work of art and not a person. How could anyone be that beautiful? So beautiful, it often took his breath away at times when he realized it.  
    He was perfect. When Duo-sama had been born, the first and only child of the head of the Matsuei clan, the entire mansion had been in whispers. The sacrifice, their savior, their guiding light in the darkness, had finally come back into the world. But many had also whispered what bad luck it was, the sacrifice being born a boy. Hiiro had come across similar ideas in his studies, that there was a bad omen with male sacrifices, although there seemed to be little proof to it. It seemed like any deviation from the very first sacrifice, hundreds of years ago, was seen as bad luck, whether it be a boy child or a girl born with black hair instead of brown or some other perceived 'defect'. That Duo was one of only seven male sacrifices did not help.  
    Then Duo had opened his eyes and all those whispers of bad omens had ceased. Even as a new born, those eyes had been that beautiful shade of blue-violet, like some sort of flower or jewel. The same violet, it was said, the original maiden had shared. Of the dozens of children that had been sacrificed to keep the Darkness at bay, only three of them had had those same traits, the pale skin, the violet eyes, and the auburn hair. It was said to be the best kind of omen, regardless of Duo's gender, and that he had grown to be beautiful and feminine was a great sign that the ritual would be a success.   
    But when Hiiro looked at his charge, he didn't see those things as feminine, especially not now as he watched him cleanse his body. His hips and chest were flat, his body thin, almost frail looking, but not the body of a woman. They could dress him up in that kimono that had been made for a girl, and keep his hair long, but it didn't change how Duo really was. The way he was now, his chest and stomach bare, water making his body gleam and the hakama plastered to his legs, he looked more natural, more like himself than he ever did while he was wearing that white kimono.   
    Hiiro's grip on the door tightened as Duo filled the basin with more water and pulled his silken hair over one thin shoulder, letting it drape in his lap. He tilted the basin, letting the water pour down his back and chest. The older boy watched the muscles in that slender back flex as he washed himself, one especially fascinating stream flowing over his stomach as he turned back around where Hiiro could see his front and disappearing into the front of his hakama.   
    If he thought about it for a second, a second he adamantly refused himself, Hiiro could imagine that water collecting in the thin, silken reddish brown hair down there and some horrible part of himself wished he weren't wearing hakama at all, while another part, the sane and dutiful part, was immensely glad he was. His breath hitched as he realized that the boy's soft nipples had at some point become hard, pink peaks from the cold water and he stumbled from the door like he had seen a demon, instead of the boy that he had known since he had once been a child. All at once, he realized the hard flesh between his legs with the sort of horror one might see a terrible infection or wound.   
    Hiiro directed every curse that he knew towards himself, but it did little to make his... feelings... go away. When had this happened? When had he become this aberrant person, when had he forsaken all of his duties, all of his responsibilities, and looked at his charge... his teishu like this? He dug his keys from his obi and gripped them so tightly, a few of they cut into his palm, drawing blood.   
    This was not the first time he had felt this... heat when looking at Duo. He could not remember exactly when he had first realized his beauty, or his weakness in the face of it, but it was happening far too frequently. All these secret moments when Duo would smile at him, or sleep against his shoulder, or become fixated on a butterfly or flower and Hiiro would notice him and realize all of the things he could never be permitted to notice. When had his heart betrayed him?  
    He could not let this perversion take hold. Duo wasn't his accolyte, some younger boy he could take under his wing and have that sort of relationship with. And even if he were... even if Hiiro had been a samurai or a monk, and Duo his apprentice, what he wanted when he looked into those deep, violet eyes wasn't just lust, some kind of temporary relationship (4). When he looked at his teishu, he saw his entire world. What he felt was unnatural.  
    No, what he felt for Duo was worse than unnatural. It would have been bad enough if he had just been another boy, a fellow servant or even one from the Matsuei family. But Duo-sama wasn't a boy. He was the Mirror Sacrifice, a sacred being, a pure and perfect being, far above his mere, lowly thoughts of attraction. Hiiro's feelings disgusted him because it was such a betrayal to the one person he cared about. Duo couldn't be tainted by impure thoughts, neither the thoughts of those around him or his own. He had to remain pure for the ritual, in order for it to be a success. Only one with a pure heart, one untainted by the living world, could appease the rift.   
    His grip on the keys became so hard, blood streamed down his hand. The pain was soothing and he focused on it, let it fill him, distracting him from the throbbing in his groin and heart until he could feel nothing else but the pain. His punishment, and his salvation.   
    Duo-sama certainly could not have his own Guard directing such thoughts and feelings at him. He was the Mirror Guard. It was his duty to protect Duo, even if it was from himself. If Shujin-sama ever learned that he harbored these detestable thoughts, he would not punish him or banish him, he would behead him without a second thought, and he would be right to. The hope for every single person in this mansion, this village, humanity itself, the light against the Darkness... his feelings didn't matter, they were petty and dirty in the face of Duo's purity. All he had to do was bottle them inside and do the same thing he had done since he had met that kind, little boy in that small garden. Protect him, no matter what he needed to sacrifice.   
    "Hiiro? Is that you?" Duo's soft voice through the door almost made him gasp in fear.  
    Had his teishu seen him watching him? Had he seen... _him_? A violet eye appeared through the barely open door and when Duo saw that it really was him, he smiled a little. That smile made Hiiro ache in a way that had nothing to do with lust.   
    "You did not wake me this morning, Teishu-sama," Hiiro scolded, purposefully using the proper title, something that he knew always frustrated Duo.  
    The younger boy had the good grace to blush at that.   
    "I wanted to see the sunrise," he murmured, averting his gaze before quickly looking back up at Hiiro, "I didn't want to wake you so early."  
    "It is my duty to go where you go, Teishu-sama. My needs are irrelevant," Hiiro scolded him lightly.   
    "I know," Duo said simply without any kind of apology. He then looked hesitant and shy again, "I have finished my cleansing, can you help me dress?"  
    "Of course," the older boy said, almost in exasperation.   
    He slid inside of the chozuya, no longer feeling embarrassed or aroused by the thought of being near Duo when he was naked and he wondered why that was. Perhaps because they had done this every single day since they had been children, and while his eyes had never lingered on his charge's body in the way that they had lingered today, he had seen parts of Duo's naked body before, and the thought of seeing it again did not bother him. It was part of his duty, helping the boy dress. But seeing him the way he had earlier... there had been nothing dutiful about that, and the fact that he had been wearing some clothing was irrelevant.   
    That embarrassment quickly flooded back when Hiiro saw that Duo was still wearing that dark blue hakama, the wet cloth molded to his slender form. It really did suit him better than his kimono did. Hiiro swallowed roughly as his teishu turned to gather his clothing, carefully folded and placed away from where the water might have wetted them, giving him a view of that pale, perfect back again. Hiiro forced himself to turn around and stare at the wall, a less tantalizing image, and squeezed his hand into a fist, focusing on the pain of his self-inflicted wounds. That was all this was. He lacked focus, lacked discipline, and he needed to find it again.  
    "You should not go alone in the mornings, Teishu-sama," he scolded again, "No matter how early you feel like rising, you should wake me. If I had not arrived here at this moment, there would have been no one to assist you. You would have had to wait for me and you might have even caught a cold, no matter how warm it is today."  
    He heard a soft creak of the floorboards and turned to see Duo approaching him, holding his kimono and other clothing carefully as to not get them wet. He was wearing a soft, but somehow still brilliant, smile on his lips. It was the sort of smile he often wore whenever he said something brutally honest, something that usually ended up hurting Hiiro in some secret place, although he would certainly never tell him that.   
    "Whenever I need you," he said, his voice like his smile, both soft and powerful in the quiet of the chozuya, "I always know you will be here. You always know when I need help, and what it is exactly that I need. I will always have faith in that."  
    Heero, the Heero that did not belong, the one watching from deep inside the one that did, felt his heart ache seeing that smile. His past self had seen it as brilliant, but the other Heero saw sadness there, a deep sadness that didn't belong on such a kind, beautiful face. The other Hiiro, the one long since dead and whose memory this belonged to, only felt intense guilt seeing that smile and hearing those words, guilt and strength. Duo was relying on him, and he had faith in him to always be with him, always be strong and do what he needed. He did not need these feelings of his, he needed his Guard. Duo was all that mattered, not what Hiiro felt, and for a moment, he had forgotten that. He shoved the last vestiges of his desires and affection deep inside and locked them tightly away, latching on to all of the lessons of duty and responsibility that he had been taught as a child and wondering how he had so easily forgotten all of them, or at least let something else take their place.   
    Duo's blue-violet eyes widened in the dim room as he caught sight of Hiiro's hand.  
    "You're injured," he said painfully.  
    Hiiro looked down at his hand and saw that his wounds were still bleeding, but sluggishly now.  
    "I am fine," he insisted, "The bleeding has almost stopped. I will take care of it later."  
    "You cannot leave your wounds open like this," this time Duo was the one to scold him and looked generally upset by it, "they might get infected."  
    The chestnut haired boy walked over to where he had hung the cloths he had washed with from a pole above where the water flowed through the chozuya. He took two down, wetting one and keeping the other dry.  
    "Teishu-sama," Hiiro protested, trying to keep his voice firm and authoritative but Duo flashed him a dark glare, a rare, passionate look from someone that was usually soft spoken and restrained, and Hiiro quickly amended himself, "Duo-san, do not concern yourself, the cuts are very small. You need to get out of your wet clothes."  
    Duo pointedly ignored him as he walked back to him and Hiiro nearly sighed, but let his charge take his hand and clean the blood off with the wet cloth.   
    "Sorry, I do not have any ointment to properly clean these with," he apologized, "Please have them tended to properly."  
    He didn't even have the soap he used available. During his ablutions, Duo could only use the flowing, natural water from the stream to cleanse his body with, he wasn't even allowed to use the nuka that the servants used when they washed in the sento (5). When he washed normally at night before dinner, he liked to use the soap his father had purchased for his mother. Duo said it was soothing and enjoyed the very light, herbal scent of it, one of the few luxuries he was allowed.   
    "I will," Hiiro said, trying to soothe his friend's worries, it always made him feel off balance when Duo should such concern for him when he had so many other, more important things to focus on, and feeling for a moment like he was being scolded at by his father.   
    Duo tore the dry cloth into strips and used it to wrap Hiiro's hand. As he did so, he paused and stared at the cuts on the older boy's hand with such concentration and fervor that Hiiro was sure he was about to ask him how he had gotten his wounds, but the long haired boy staid silent, just staring at the red, cut flesh, deep in his thoughts and looking disturbed by them. Even in the low lighting of the chozuya, he looked too pale. The other Heero thought that he looked scared, but Duo's Hiiro didn't seem able to register that. He nearly asked him what was wrong when Duo resumed wrapping his hand.   
    "Does it hurt?" he murmured.  
    "They just sting," Hiiro assured him, "Now will you please get out of those hakama before you make yourself sick?"  
    That made Duo chuckle happily and whatever dark mood had recently seized him just as quickly released him.  
    "Alright," he turned around and began to untie the waist.  
    Hiiro turned around again, not taking the chance that he would feel anything at all when Duo finally undressed.   
    "Why are you wearing such a thing?" he suddenly blurted out, "You know you are not allowed to wear that kind of clothing. If your father had found out, he would have been furious."  
    There was a lengthy silence. Hiiro dared to glance back at his charge and his entire face threatened to turn red. Duo had gotten the hakama down around his thighs, leaving the rest of him completely exposed and bare. He had stopped undressing and the hakama just hung there in his clutched hands. He seemed disturbed by something, like he had been when he had been wrapping Hiiro's hand and Hiiro wished he had not spoken.   
    "I came to the hill earlier to watch the sunrise three days ago," Duo finally said, his voice small and had some kind of quality to it, almost like a tremble, that Hiiro did not like, "I heard the kagura being practiced and went to the kagura-den to watch. The dance was so beautiful, the miko so coordinated and passionate. I had heard the music before, but I had never witnessed the miko dance before. I wanted to try... to see what it was like to move like that... to move so freely, so wildly and beautifully and not like the way I was taught to."  
    "You danced," Hiiro said breathlessly, caught between horror and wonder, a part of him wishing he had awoken early enough to have seen it and another glad that he hadn't.  
    Duo nodded, looking downcast.  
    "Duo-san, you cannot do these things," his guard protested, "That is forbidden. You are the Mirror Sacrifice, if anyone had seen you-"  
    "I was careful," the younger boy said with a sharp edge to his voice, "I made sure that no one would be able to see me. I just wanted one moment, one single moment, where I did not have to be the Mirror Sacrifice, where I could just be like the rest of those dancers. What is so terrible about me dancing? What is so evil about it?"  
    "You cannot think like that," Hiiro said desperately, feeling fear worm its way into his heart as Duo's voice became bitter, "You know why it is forbidden! You cannot be distracted from your duty, you cannot shed it like you do a piece of clothing."  
    Duo dropped the hakama and stepped out of them. As he approached, Hiiro felt no desire towards his naked body, only worry and ache as he saw the pain in those expressive, violet eyes.  
    "My duty..." he muttered and then fell silent.   
    He stood there without his kimono or that hakama, the same hakama, Hiiro suddenly remembered, had been gifted to him on his birthday that year by a visiting relative, the hakama that would eventually be buried at the empty funeral plot that would hold all such belongings of his after the ritual was completed. His body bare and his eyes looking far off, he looked more vulnerable than Hiiro had ever seen him and he again wished he had never said anything to Duo.  
     "Come," he urged, picking up Duo's traditional clothes that he had placed neatly on a dry patch of the floor, "Let me dress you."  
    The younger boy was unresponsive as they fell into the usual motions of him donning his white kimono. He let Hiiro comb his thick hair and attach the anklet of braided rope and a silver golden bell that he had made for him when they had been children to his ankle and then followed him obediently out of the chozuya. When the sun hit his pale face, Duo finally spoke again.  
    "I must wash away the sin of the world every morning," he said softly, looking away into the distance, his tone sad, almost mournful.  
    "Holy sacrifices must perform daily ablutions in order to remain pure," Hiiro said and almost winced at his tone, realizing he had quoted from one of the books he had studied as a child. He quickly relaxed and changed his tone to one that was lighter and more familiar, "You are the purest being in the entire world."  
    Duo laughed, still not looking at his friend, his back to him now. Hiiro followed his view and saw that he had been looking at one of the nearby sakura trees, it's pink petals dancing in the light breeze.  
    "Is that true?" he asked and his voice was tainted with that bitterness again, "Tell me, Hiiro, is the world really so dirty and ugly that I must wash it from my body every day... or is it me that is so dirty that the world can't bear to touch me? Is that the real reason why I'm locked away in this place while others are allowed to dance and live however they choose?"  
    "Please do not say that," Hiiro repeated, but this time it was begging, his heart feeling like it was twisting with those words, "You cannot have such doubts. If you do..." he swallowed roughly, not willing to finish that thought out loud, "You know why you must do these things."  
    "If I didn't have these doubts, I would not be human," Duo said, his voice cracking.   
    Hiiro walked around him so he could see his face and when Duo turned to look at him and he saw unshed tears in those deep eyes, he felt like he might break.   
    "Am I still human?" Duo asked, and the desperation, the horrible pain and doubt in the same voice he had known since he had been a child, did break him.  
    Tears pricking his own eyes, Hiiro discarded all of his lessons of conduct and responsibility as the Guard and hugged his best friend tightly, tighter than he had ever dared to hold him before. He felt his yukata become wet where Duo pressed his face close to him but he didn't hear him sob. Even like this, he was too composed for that, too secretive and too strong. Hiiro dared to thread his fingers through that brown, silk hair.   
    "You are still a boy," he said with tear roughened voice, "no ritual will ever change that, not ever. You were born a human and when you die, you will always be a human."  
    Standing there in the morning sun with Duo wrapped up in his arms, Hiiro felt happy, just feeling that slender body pressed against him, and he hated himself for it. He hated that he could feel something like that when Duo was crying and so upset over something so terrible. And he hated himself for thinking earlier that Duo was perfect, that not all that long ago, realistically, he had thought of him as the sacrifice, that sacred being from the texts he had studied. Duo was the Mirror Sacrifice, and that sacrifice would seal away the Darkness, but everyone, from the servants that waited on him to even his own parents, forgot that underneath that white kimono, underneath all his prayers and rituals and perfection, he was still a boy, a person.   
    Even thinking that, Hiiro all too soon realized who he was holding in his arms, the inappropriateness of it, and tried to pull away. It was then that Duo clung to Hiiro's yukata and began to sob. All his feelings of what was appropriate fled him and he chastised himself for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning. All that mattered was what Duo needed, and if he needed to cry like this, Hiiro would gladly let him, no matter that the monks or Shujin-sama would disapprove. They would tell him that he needed to be harder on Duo, to keep his mind on the path to his purpose, that it was wrong for the Mirror Sacrifice to cry like this, to doubt what he needed to do. But they didn't understand. They didn't know what it was like to see all that pain in the eyes of someone so gentle and kind.   
    "My parents never touch me," Duo muttered into Hiiro's yukata, "even when I was a child, they barely would. Even our servants and other members of our family refuse to touch me. I asked once, when I was little, why I couldn't play with the other children, why everyone keeps their distance from me. My father said it was because I must remain pure and full of 'righteous conviction, but that's not the truth. I think it's because I'm a ghost, a thing that should be dead, but dares to walk among the living. A thing that is too repulsive to be touched."  
    Before Hiiro could soothe him and tell him that that was not the truth, even as he felt his own tears track down his face at hearing the loneliness Duo had felt for so long, Duo cut him off.  
    "Do not say it is not true, you know it is. You know, just as I know, that the only difference between myself and a ghost is that I haven't died yet. Soon, I won't even be able to claim that much of a distinction. Did you know," he said with a bitter smile, "that the last time my mother held me like you are holding me now was when I was an infant and had cried during a thunderstorm?" Duo closed his eyes as he felt Hiiro's hand caressing his head, relaxing against him like it was the most natural thing in the world, "I'm so lonely just for... for someone to touch me like I'm like anyone else," he whispered, "When you held my hand that first time... every time you touch me or hold me like this, it soothes that loneliness," his voice hitched again and his grip on the navy blue cloth in his hands tightened, "so please, I beg you, hold me just for a little bit longer."  
    Hiiro bit his tongue to keep a sob from escaping, his tears pouring down his cheeks almost as hard as Duo's was. He couldn't handle this pain in his heart, and he couldn't stand that he could feel it. He was not the one that was lonely. He wasn't the one who was going to be sacrificed. After the ritual, when Duo was gone, he would have freedom. A freedom his charge would never have. He could touch, and be touched by, anyone that he pleased. So what right did he have to cry now?   
    He nodded.  
    "Teishu-sama," he managed to say through his tears, "I will hold you for as long as you wish it."  
    "Is that because your _teishu-sama_ demands it?" Duo asked with such an intense bitterness, it sounded like anger. Hiiro almost flinched hearing that in his voice. He had not thought Duo capable of sounding like that. So full of rage. Like... hatred.  
    "No," he whispered into Duo's hair as he rested his cheek on his head, "it is because it is what my best friend needs."  
  
  
  
  
End part 4  
  
Author's Notes: Oh, man, I actually got a part out pretty early for Halloween. Hopefully I will be able to get another out before the end of October. Not a whole lot of scary stuff happened in this part, especially with that dream sequence, but the next part will be darker, I promise ^_^  
  
Also apologies in advance for all these footnotes, but they are necessary for you to understand some of these cultural things.   
  
Also HAPPY HALLOWEEN and I will be working on Stagnation for Nanowrimo in case I don't get another part out before then.   
  
Some terminology:  
  
(1) Yukata: a thin garment usually worn for bathing, festivals, and in hot, summer months  
Hakama: pleated trouser pants, typically worn by men and tied at the waist  
Haori: short sleeved, light jacket. Open in the front and worn over a man's kimono  
Geta: sandals  
Obi: in this instance, the tie of the yukata  
teishu: master  
Shujin: also master  
Misogi: type of shinto ablution ritual involving flowing water  
  
(2) Tsukinikagami: basically means 'moon's mirror'  
  
(3) Some more terminology.   
  
Torii: the welcoming gate or gates to a shinto shrine. Shime torii are the oldest kinds, just two posts with a shimenawa tied between them. Shimenawa is typically a simple rope with ornaments hanging from it. Kasuga is just a different kind of torii. Sando is the road to the shrine. The chozuya are ablution stations used for washing hands. Toro are decorative stone lanterns. Miko are obviously shrine maidens and the kagura-den is the place where dramas and sacred dances are performed.   
  
(4) About homosexuality in Edo period Japan: homosexuality in Japan around this time was not actually taboo. It was depicted in art for many centuries and samurais and monks would often take on male lovers. However, duty was important and so it was expected that the individual would still have a wife and family. Also, the accepted homosexual relationships were between an older man and an apprentice type, aka a young boy who, when reaching adulthood, would leave this man to marry while retaining a close friendship with their past lover. So Hiiro's attraction to another boy would not be odd, but his desires and love for someone around his same age, and his lack of desire to have a family outside of this person would be.   
  
(5) A sento, in the edo period, was a public bathhouse. While the Matsuei mansion does have areas for bathing, the servants typically go to the town sento. Nuka was rice bran which, when boiled with water and bamboo shoots, could be used for washing. Soap was available during this period, but only for the wealthy and it had be shipped from Spain. 


	9. Chapter 3: Dolls Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quatre finds himself separated from Trowa and the others. Will he be able to find his way back to his lover in one piece?

Beyond the Looking Glass  
Chapter 3: Dolls  
Part 5  
  
  
June 8th, 2066  
  
  
    Ever since he had been very small, Quatre had seen things that no one, not even his other siblings, had been able to see. He remembered, as a child, loving his gift. He always knew what his sisters and father were thinking, always knew what cards his playmates had been holding when they played goldfish, and sometimes when he touched things, a book, a picture, he would see the whole world of it laid out before him. When he had told his family these things, they had always written it off as a child's imagination.   
    If he told them he was going out to play with a friend who lived down the street, at the dilapidated house that would later be bulldozed for the sake of a convenience store when he was a teenager, they had just called him his imaginary friend. If they had listened to him describe his friend, they would have realized his 'imaginary companion' matched the description of the boy that used to live there until his mother had poisoned him and his father had moved far away.    
    One day in the late winter, when he had just been seven years old, a group of boys had asked him to come out sledding with them and he had refused. The son of one of the richest men in that small village he had grown up in, a foreigner and a shy child, Quatre seldom got asked out by other children to play unless his father arranged it with their parents. It wouldn't be until he met Trowa that he had any real friends. His father had demanded to know why he had turned them down and Quatre told him he didn't want to go swimming. His father had stalked off in disgust, having lost all patience for his son's games, but had returned hours later. He told Quatre that the two of the children that had gone sledding had hit a patch of thin ice by the lake and had drowned.   
    Quatre had told him that he knew, that he told him he didn't want to swim. When his father had asked him, a nervous look in his eye, where he had heard that from, Quatre had told him the truth. His mother had told him not to go with those boys, that they would fall through the ice and try to swim, but couldn't. His mother, who had died when Quatre had been a baby and had never gotten to meet, except for in photographs. Except for the many times during his childhood that she had visited him. One of his sisters had overheard what he had said and called him a horrible child, saying such a thing about their mother. His father hadn't been angry. He had been frightened.   
    They moved shortly after that. His father had claimed it was because of corporate espionage, but at eight years old, he had wondered if it wasn't because of what he had told him. They never spoke of it again, he and his father, and Quatre never mentioned how, even though they had moved all the way to Japan, he still saw his mother once in awhile. As he had grown older, the times he saw her grew less frequent, but he would glimpse her once in awhile, watching them with a sad smile on her face.   
    As Quatre had gotten older, his 'gift' had stopped being a delight. He could still sense how his family and friends felt, but feeling one of his sisters fall in love with one of the boys in her class or feeling Relena's excitement when she got an A in Calculus, her hardest subject, didn't make up for the fear he felt whenever his father looked at him. It certainly didn't make up for the way he felt every time he had looked up at the Matsuei Mansion.   
    He had been ten when he had learned the true horror of his gift, when he had learned that not every ghost was like the boy he used to play with or like his mother. Nasue, even in this period of growth and emulation of western civilization, was a small town. There were only two grocery stores, one hospital, one college, and two public schools, an elementary school and a high school. Dragonfly Pond Lake and the woods surrounding the Matsuei Mansion took up most of the town. Quatre had never really understood why the woods and the mansion had never been bulldozed in the name of progress beyond a small history lesson he had been taught his first year of school here about the importance of maintaining historical places and the religious vitality of the mansion, which had, according to town lore, been a spiritual place once.   
    The lesson had been incredibly vague about the mansion, what purpose it had served, who had lived there, and what exactly was so vital about it beyond stressing the fact that it was. All of the children who had grown up in Nasue and came from old families had simply nodded to the teacher's words, the same as they would have if he had been talking to them about how the seasons changed and Quatre had wondered if there was some kind of oral history that got passed down among the residents of this town or if it was just not viewed as important. All he knew was that his father had ordered him to stay away from that wooded path and the house on the very first day they had arrived and he had obeyed.   
    For a small town, Nasue had a large cemetery. The area of land that had been set aside for it was larger than any public space that Quatre had ever seen in the town, something that had always struck him as strange and morbid. It was not simply that the town had set aside a large amount of space for the graveyard, but that all of it had been used to some extent. Quatre had only been there a handful of times and each time, it had made him feel like his insides were trying to crawl out of his throat, but were being weighed down by a spiked, iron ball.   
    Half of the graveyard was like any other graveyard Quatre had been to, a place where residents of the town buried the ashes of their family members and loved ones, but the other half was separate and forbidden to the residents of Nasue. This, like the reason why Matsuei Mansion still stood, and the tiny mirrors that littered the graveyard, seemed to be something everyone in the town accepted easily and simply stayed far away from that side of the cemetery. Quatre had asked one of his teachers about it once, if it was the Matsuei burial plot was located, and they had only remarked that the Matsuei's had never mourned their dead in the village and something bad had happened in Nasue's history that had resulted in many, many deaths, and the victims of this tragedy were buried there, but it was considered taboo for anyone to tread on that land beyond those that tended to those graves.  
    Thinking about that had always given Quatre a chill. Graves, in this case, at least according to the few Nasue natives he had spoken to about it, meant actual graves, holding human remains instead of ashes, something that was rare in Japan. He assumed that the tragedy had been some sort of plague, but if that was the case, it had to be because of some superstition that had caused the villagers back then not to burn the victims, which had probably made the plague worse.   
    It had been in that cemetery where Quatre had seen his very first malevolent spirit. He had only been living in Nasue for two years and was still finding it hard to adjust at ten years old, the only blond child in a class of Japanese students since Trowa had been in the class above his. Three months into his new school year, his teacher had suffered a stroke and died. He and the rest of his classmates had been escorted to the cemetery to pay their respects by their new teacher, his very first trip to the place.   
    He had seen her from a distance at first, a woman wearing a western style black dress, complete with a black veil and lacy, black gloves. Her hair had also been black, cropped around her face. It had been raining out, the entire class huddled under umbrellas, but the woman hadn't looked wet at all.   
    At a glance, at an age before he recognized how those sort of things felt, he had thought she was just another mourner, but she had just stood there, staring at him through her veil and he had felt something deep in his stomach, a sickness just from looking at her. Quatre had stayed glued to his teacher's side for the rest of that trip, always keeping an eye on the strange woman, but she never moved and never changed her attention from him.   
    She had followed him back to the school. As he had left the cemetery, he had looked back, and had felt relieved when he hadn't seen her. But when they had returned to the classroom and he had looked out the window, she had been standing there in the playground. Staring at him. And when school had ended and he had gone outside to where his father was supposed to pick him up, she had been standing there across the street, still staring, always staring.   
    He had waited and waited and waited, staring back at the specter, but his father hadn't showed up. One by one, his classmates had gone home and he had suddenly found himself alone. His teacher, who was supposed to stay with all of the students until their parents came for them, had disappeared. Some part of him had realized that his father not picking him up, his teacher leaving him alone, had been the woman's doing and had felt an incredible sense of terror before he had really understood _why_.  
    Right when Quatre had realized that he was all alone, the woman's bloodless lips had curved upwards. He had imagined it would be what a wooden doll would look like if it tried to smile. If he had been older, the word that would have immediately come into his head looking at that smile would have been 'sinister.' Staring at her, suddenly a thousand horrible images had exploded into his head. Blood. Death. Pain. Insanity. Rage. Five boys, all around his age, some with purple faces, one bloated with water, another covered in black contusions, but all dead and laying with their limbs askew, like broken dolls.  
    Across the street, the woman took a step forward, the only movement she had made this entire time, and Quatre had ran, terror making his heart burst. He had ran all the way home, up to his room, and spent the rest of the night hiding under the covers of his bed, shaking and sobbing with fear and nothing his sisters or father had done or said had gotten him to come out. When he eventually did sleep, his nightmares had been filled with things no ten year old should ever dream about.   
    That morning, the body of one of his classmates had been found floating in the lake, his small body bloated and his head twisted around. They never found the killer and never would. Quatre's father had tried to keep that from him, but Quatre had known. He had known the minute he had seen that woman across the street from him.   
    After that, Quatre had quickly learned to be scared of his gift. He had never figured out if that woman had followed him from the cemetery simply because he... he had been the kind of victim she had been looking for, or if it had been because of his gift, but he would never forget that smile, those eyes that he couldn't quite make out past the veil staring at him. Every time he went to the cemetery after that, no matter what he felt, he was sure to keep his head down, even though some deep instinct almost had him looking up where he had seen the woman last.  
    He managed to live in Nasue for two more years before catching a glimpse of the Matsuei Mansion. His father's warning, and the vital lesson he had gotten two years previous had instilled in him a healthy respect and a healthy fear for the place. Older, more superstitious people around town loved filling Quatre and his friends' heads with stories about the place, about all the people who died there, how it was cursed and haunted, a shadow cast over the entire town, and while up until now, he had had no real proof that any of those stories were true, he would never risk it.   
    His experience with the mansion, up until this recent venture of course, had been tame compared to the incident at the cemetery, but in some ways it had been a lot worse. It had been during Nasue's Summer festival that he had forgotten himself and wandered too close to the mansion. He had been drunk on sweets, okonomiyaki, and Trowa. His best friend, as he did every year since they had met, had accompanied him to the festival and Quatre had been happy to walk through the town with him that night, just the two of them, as fireworks lit up the sky. He might have only been twelve years old, but even back then, he had been enamored with Trowa, even if he had been too young to realize that his looking up to his friend was something else entirely.   
    He would remember it for the rest of his life, however long that was, the two of them walking, him looking up at Trowa's green eyes as his friend talked about the fireworks. Then, he felt something in his head. It had been gradual, a tickling at first. Then it had felt like there glass shards in his skull, digging into his brain. Some magnetic force had him look up, above the tree line of the forest, to that dark shape that was the mansion and he had realized how long they had been walking, how close they were to that... thing.  
    It was impossible to find the right words to describe exactly what he saw and felt as he looked up at the old, abandoned house on the steep hill beyond the woods. He felt a pain he had never felt before, he felt... _darkness_ , a thing he never would have thought capable of feeling. He heard screaming and could taste blood. But beyond that, his mind was touched by insanity. For a moment in his brief life, he forgot all about his love for the boy standing next to him, he forgot about his mother and his father, his sisters, his hopes and dreams. He was consumed by madness and rage and fear and _horror_.   
    Quatre then threw up, practically explosively, on the ground, his body doubling over as though someone had just punched him in the stomach. Trowa watched him, frightened, as the younger boy puked up everything he had just eaten. Quatre heard Trowa say something about him having eaten too much sugar and began to lead him back to the festival to get some water. He had felt equal parts joy at putting that horrible place at his back, and equal parts terror at having it at his back, like he was turning his back on a rabid dog that might very well lunge and rip the back of his neck out. He had almost screamed in fear that Trowa never turn his back on it, that shadow over the town. He had looked at the mansion for just twelve seconds.  
    Quatre had adamantly promised himself that he would never go anywhere near that horrible place, not even so close that he could see the top of the mansion. Then Relena had decided to do their stupid school project here. If he hadn't been so scared, he would have laughed bitterly when Trowa had told him that. Five years staying away from this place, and his friends had dragged him _inside_ the cursed place. He had known, the whole drive up to this place, that something horrible was destined to happen. He had felt it as he had looked upon the house for the second time, and he had known it when he had stepped inside. But still, he had come here. He had let Trowa's presence give him hope that he could stave off his visions, that he might use his gift to protect his friends. Seventeen years old and he was still such a naive child.  
    They never should have come here. He should have listened to his father... he should have listened to _himself_. More than anything else, he should have listened to his gift and the single warning it had given him on the drive up here. As they had traversed up the wooden hill to the mansion, he had seen something. Not a demon or a ghost or some kind of vision of their future, but the one thing that he had relied on as a child. Through the thick trees, he had seen his mother. Seeing her there, wearing the same white dress she had died in, and he had felt a chill go through him, something that never happened when he saw her. All of her usual warmth and comfort had been absent. As she had watched him pass her, she had been crying.   
    Would he have been able to save his friends if he had heeded his mother's warning and demanded they turn around? He doubted it. Relena and Wufei had never believed in his psychic gift. Zechs seemed doubtful, but still respectful. Heero had always been ambivalent about his visions, not disbelieving him but also not seeming to care about them either until now. Trowa was the only one of them that had always listened to him, had always treated his visions as fact. He might not have been able to save the others, but he could have saved Trowa. He would go to his grave hating himself for following his friends blindly, like he always did.  
    He had felt terrified the second he had walked into this place, but the most scared he had felt wasn't when the main door had locked them in, or seeing Duo's ghostly form, or even watching his friends' flashlights going out one by one in the maze of guest rooms. He had felt the most scared when his own flashlight had gone out and, in his terror, had reached out for Trowa, Trowa the only man he had ever loved, Trowa who had always been by his side, Trowa who had been standing no more than two feet away from him, and had only grasped at empty air.   
    "Trowa?" Quatre called out in a hushed whisper, afraid of the kind of response he would get, but the silence he received was much worse.  
    "Trowa!" he screamed.  
    His voice echoed and somehow sounded like it was mocking him. There was, impossibly, no answer. No, he thought, not impossibly. Hadn't he said it himself? In this place, anything and everything was possible. Seconds had passed since his flashlight had gone out, but he was alone. The worst thing in his imagining had happened. His friends, his boyfriend, all of them were gone and he was alone in a house full of the dead. That knowledge settled painfully in his racing heart. He hadn't realize just how much he had been relying on the group to keep sane.   
    He had told himself that he accepted his fate, that there was nothing he or any of his friends could do in this place to stay alive. All of his visions of the dead in this place, all of his feelings of horror and the feelings his friends had been feeding him told him that. But now, he felt an incredible terror. It was easy to think he could succumb to the inevitable when Trowa and the others were with him, but by himself... his fear wouldn't let him feel numb about any of it. Like a hyena with a wounded gazelle, Duo had singled him out and separated him from his herd. Had he been picked to be the first one of the group to die? Because he was the weakest, or perhaps because Duo had sensed some sort of threat from his abilities?   
    His gift gave him no clues. All he could feel was the dark, this black, ominous thing around him. His abilities gleefully informed him of some of the things that were living in there, thriving in there. Twisted things full of pain and hate, things that were all too happy for his fear. It was the things that he couldn't quite feel that frightened him the most.  
    The walls of this room had eyes. A thousand eyes, all directed at him, at his heart. And Duo was there, all around him. He was the walls. He was the floor that Quatre stood on. He was the air that he was breathing. That foul air with the smell of decay and age and _staleness_. Thinking about it for more than a second would drive him completely mad. If he wasn't already. Trowa... where was Trowa? Was he even still alive? He tried to reach out with his mind to feel him, but he only felt emptiness. Emptiness and something evil in the dark, meeting his mind like a rapist in the shadows, making him almost throw up like he had five years ago. He didn't dare reach out into this darkness again.  
    Crying softly, Quatre hit his flashlight in desperation and anger. It was no good. It wanted him here, in the dark, and it had no use for Quatre's only source of light. He dropped it to the ground, the metal flashlight making an unwelcoming thumping sound as it hit the ancient wood floor. Quatre sat on the ground and pushed back until his back hit a wall. He wrapped his arms around his knees and stayed there, his tears feeling heavy and somehow disgusting to him on his face. If Trowa could see him now, he would find him pathetic, just sitting here, crying in the dark. He should be trying to find his friends, should be feeling around the room for the door. He didn't want to spend a single second in this dark place, but he couldn't find the will to stand up or do anything of the things the logical part of his brain was telling him to do.  
    What was the point? They were all going to die. Whether it happened now or later, it was the only inevitability. He could stumble around in the dark, and maybe he would find the door. Maybe there was no door to find. Even if he did get out of this room, it was just more darkness. It was endless, as endless as this night. If he was truly lucky, he would fall down some steps and break his neck, but Duo would not allow that. Quatre had no idea what the malicious ghost would do, how he would kill them, but it wouldn't be from something so painless, he knew that much. No matter how far he traveled in this place, if it didn't want him to, he would never find his friends. He would never find Trowa.  
    Quatre shuddered in the dark, feeling cold fingers wrapping around his heart and breath ghosting across his skin. It could well be his imagination. It could be his gift. It could be anything at all. The real reason why he was sitting there wasn't that he saw no point in trying to do anything. It was because he didn't want to stumble in the dark. He didn't want to reach his hand out and touch something... something that was not old wood or rotten paper.   
    He grasped at his head and squeezed his eyes shut. It was beginning to ache. He focused everything he had at not letting whatever was trying to get inside of him a way in. A vision or some kind of malice, he couldn't afford either. Not if he didn't want to go completely insane. Being here in the dark... every minute felt like an hour, every second pure torture. All he could do was hear his furious heart beat in his head, whispers in his ears, and feel the darkness press against him, wanting to consume him. To eat him.   
    'I should just kill myself,' he thought in despair, 'If this is what the rest of my life is going to be like, fighting against visions, being all alone here, I should just end it now."  
    He did not want to be here anymore. He didn't want to be without Trowa. Beyond everything else, he did not want to meet it. He didn't want to find out what it had planned for him, whatever painful, horrific death it had chosen for him. Better to take his own life than to open his eyes and see it leering at him from the shadows.   
   _Yes... yes... do it... kill yourself..._  
    It would be so easy. There were a hundred things, possibly in this very room, he could do the job with. Rope, a sharp shard of wood or glass... It wouldn't hurt too much and then he would be free of his fear. Free of his visions at last, away from this darkness and rage, away from it.  
   _So simple... yes... no more fear, no more anger, no more betrayal..._  
    Quatre let go of his knees and groped around him, searching for something, anything. His fingers quickly met something on the ground not all that far from where he had been sitting, a small saw. It felt sharp where it shouldn't have, having been here for hundreds of years. It was as though the tool had been laid there just for him.   
   _Do it_  
    He pressed the saw to his throat and shook, feeling the cold metal against his skin  
     _Do it do it do it_  
    He dug the serrated blade into his flesh and felt one of the points break the skin. The heat of his blood as it trailed down his neck was repulsive and shocking.   
     ** _Now_**  
    "No!" Quatre screamed, throwing the saw away from him.  
    He sobbed and wiped at his bloody neck, frightened at the damage he had done to himself, but as his fingers found the wound on his neck, he realized he had barely cut himself at all. He shook so hard, he felt like he was having a seizure.  
    He had almost slit his own throat. That voice in his head... that despair he had felt... He had come so very close to listening to it. Quatre laughed insanely in the dark room. No more fear... those thoughts had been alien. Killing himself wasn't going to free him from this nightmare. If he died here, that would be it. It would be him haunting these halls, searching forever for Trowa. Maybe it would even be him who would kill his friends, possessed by it, the darkness that thrived in this rotting mansion. In this place, nothing died, not really. And hadn't that been the worst of his fears, not the fear of a painful death, but the fear of what would come after? A fate worse than any death Duo could deliver...  
    Quatre slammed his head into the wall behind him in shock when his flashlight flickered and for a brief moment, he saw the glimmer of eyes in front of him, each one reflecting the light from the flashlight for a mere second. He scrambled for the spot where he had dropped the flashlight, his heart slamming around in his chest like a frightened bird. He forgot all about surrendering to his fate, those watching eyes, and even how close he had just come to committing suicide, focused only on that wonderful light he had seen. Before now, he had had no idea how much he had come to rely on such a little thing.  
    He was so sure it would be just like before when he had reached for Trowa only to find nothing, that the flashlight wouldn't be where he had dropped it. Something had made it roll away or it had been spirited away to keep him in the dark. His fingers touched round, cold metal and Quatre almost screamed with joy. He snatched the flashlight up before anything else could grab it. He felt something grab his wrist and nearly wrenched his hand back before he realized that whatever was wrapped around his wrist wasn't the cold flesh of some specter, but just cloth, the strap of the flashlight.   
    Taking a deep, labored breath, Quatre flicked the switch of the flashlight. Beautiful, man made light spilled out into the blackness, illuminating a shattered, wooden bench and tools scattered everywhere. It also lit up the face of the doll that was inches from his own as it stared up at him with glimmering, black button eyes sewn into an aged, rough cloth, as well as it's hand which tightly gripped Quatre's wrist.   
    The blonde teenager screamed and yanked his hand back. The cloth of the doll's hand was rotten and gave way with a sickening rip, like that of wet paper. Quatre stumbled back, hitting the wall again, and the beam of the flash light went wild. The eyes that he had seen before, beady and black and lifeless, belonged to a countless number of dolls strewn about the room, all in various stages of decomposition and rot, some with shattered limbs, others with missing patches of hair and eyes. Small dolls made of cloth bodies and black and red straw hair hung from the ceiling. As he moved the flashlight across them, they swung in a breeze that didn't exist, like small children swinging higher and higher. When he had seen them before, they had looked like charms. Now they looked like victims of some madman, strung up and defenseless.   
    'The workshop,' Quatre realized and knew that if he dared to turn around, to put his back to the dolls, he would see that a part of the wall behind him was warped and destroyed by some terrible force.   
    It should have given him some kind of relief. Of all the places he might have been spirited away to, he had ended up not only on the same floor he had been taken from, but in a room he had been to previously instead of lost in one of the hundreds of other rooms he hadn't. With his flashlight working again, he could find his way back to the room he had been taken from. He might even be able to find his friends and that thought made hope blossom in his heart. A hope he had no right to feel.       
    He didn't feel relieved at all. To find himself in a completely different room, all within the time that his flashlight had winked out, was impossible. That he was on the same floor didn't matter. It was just as impossible as ending up in some place on a different floor on the other side of the mansion. He hadn't even thought of it as being teleported some other place, but as being spirited away, _taken_ , and that was exactly what this was. He had been taken from his group in the blink of an eye and it could happen at any moment. Knowing where he was didn't matter.   
    He didn't even know how much time, in reality, had passed since he had been taken. It could have been seconds, like how it felt, or it could have been days. Maybe he could find his friends. Maybe they were all still there in those rooms, looking for him. Or maybe they were someplace else entirely. Maybe they were dead. Maybe in he wouldn't even survive the short trip to those guest rooms. Maybe he wouldn't be able to find them, maybe his flashlight would go out and he would find himself someplace else again.  
    Maybe, maybe, maybe. In this place, none of it mattered. It wasn't even worth his fear, wondering if he dared move out of this room. He had no power here, even his choices were meaningless. Whatever Duo wanted to happen to him would happen. He had brought him here and if he didn't want him to leave, he would be trapped in this room forever. Despair filled him and he had to bite down on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood to keep his tears from spilling out, something he couldn't afford even more than hope. He just wanted to see Trowa, even just hear his voice. If he had to die, why couldn't he be with him when it happened?   
    If this was like any other time he had used his psychic ability to reach out to touch the dead, he would have done so. He would have reached out his mind into the dark and tried to find Duo. He would have tried to find out what it was Duo really wanted and found some way out. But this place wasn't haunted. A spirit did not roam these halls, looking for something it had once lost. This place was the palace of death itself.   
    Every board, every pane of glass and straw mat reeked of it. This place was just as much of a dead, lost soul as Duo was. This place _was_ Duo. He had tried to explain that to the others, but he knew that they just couldn't understand it. He could have tried harder, but he hadn't wanted to tell them that every shadow they walked through was _it_ , every room just another part of the thing that kept them here. And he knew that if he tried to reach out his mind to touch that thing, this part of Duo that was in the very air he breathed, his mind would become a part of it. Maybe that had already happened.   
    Quatre touched his throat again, feeling the slight cut there. Maybe the madness was already seeping into him. If he wasn't careful, he knew what he would see in this room. It was already there, creeping along the edges of his sight, those terrible visions. He stepped away from the wall and looked down at the doll that had grabbed him. It's beady eyes looked up at him as though it were accusing him of tearing it's arm off. The arm that had grabbed him in the dark laid next to it, the rotten stuffing that had spilled out of it in a small pile and in the low light, it looked disturbing, like off color flesh or a spider's egg sac. Quatre saw that something had ripped off the doll's legs at some point, like a child taking the limbs off a helpless insect. It didn't seem capable of moving anymore.   
    "What do you want, Duo?" he heard himself ask the quiet room and immediately berated himself for it. Trying to communicate with the spirit was pointless, and he really didn't want to be answered.   
    Something in the mirror moved. Quatre frantically swung his flashlight to it, the glare off the reflected surface making him wince and he lowered it to the floor. He was standing several feet from it and for a moment, he was sure that the figure he saw there was just his own reflection. It was definitely male and had the same blonde hair and red t-shirt that he had. It took him no more than a second to realize that it wasn't his reflection at all, that the thing in the mirror was bigger than he was, older, and while the spirit did appear to have blonde hair, a red t-shirt was not at all what he had seen.  
    The man appeared to have died in his late forties, but any features besides the fact that he had been taller and more muscled than Quatre could have any hope to be with his scrawny body were so mangled and mutilated, they were impossible to tell. His face looked like some large animal had gone after it, just a mess of red flesh with one dead eye peering out at Quatre. The blood vessels in that eye had hemorrhaged, making even his original eye color impossible to tell, but his gaze seemed almost miserable to the teenaged boy. His torso was a complete horror, his chest and stomach ripped open by thousands of bites. His ribs hung out at various angles, obviously broken. From the open cavity that had once been his stomach, entrails and flesh hung out, his intestines which looked to have been a wonderful feast for some creature, dragged on the floor. Just looking at him made Quatre gag and it took every ounce of his control not to vomit the little amount of food he had eaten... he didn't even know how long ago, if there even _was_ anything in his stomach anymore.   
    He blinked and the apparition vanished. He didn't need his gift to tell him that it had been one of his visions and if any of his friends had been there, they wouldn't have been able to see it. Perhaps Heero would have. His friend seemed to have almost as much psychic talent as Quatre did in this place. That spirit in the mirror had been one of Duo's victims, he could feel that much. But those wounds... it had looked like the man had been attacked by a dozen ravenous animals...   
    As the spirit disappeared in the mirror, nothing replaced it. Quatre could not see his reflection. Fear hit him in waves and although every instinct he had screamed at him not to, he walked up to the mirror until he was standing right in front of it. He realized, that fear growing and growing, that he had assumed that the ghost had been in the mirror because he had not seen himself in it, but that from where he had been standing, the spirit would have stood directly behind him if it had been nothing more than a reflection...   
    He waved his hands in front of the mirror, but there was nothing. He could see the dolls behind him and the work bench, or what was left of it, reflected there, but not him. He felt like Duo was mocking him, _erasing_ him. Rage and fear equally rolled in his guts.  
    "I'm still alive!" he screamed at the mirror and slammed his fists against it.  
    Any other mirror would have cracked at the hit, but this one was not even fazed.   
    'Am I though? Am I alive, or am I just...'  
    The thought sent tremors of cold dread through him. He felt cold. So unbearably cold.   
    'This is what insanity feels like,' he thought and almost laughed at himself.   
    Shrieking, mocking laughter filled the room, as though it had heard his own thought. Quatre swung his flashlight around, not trusting the reflection of the room in the mirror. He watched, feeling frozen in place, as things in the dark began to move all around him. Some strange and awful sound joined with the laughter and it took him several seconds to realize that it was the sound of old joints clicking into place. One by one, the dolls strewn about the room began to move. Their limbs trembled like an arthritic old man's as they, one by one, began to rise. They stood by the walls of the room like damaged soldiers, their bodies creaking and rotten and malformed.   
    They all turned their heads, their eyes finding Quatre, and he would have screamed if he hadn't felt so completely frightened, paralyzed by a fear that would have driven him mad if he hadn't already passed that point already. Their eyes were all different shapes and sizes and color, some made of glass, some of bead, some of buttons, but in the dark and under the faint light of Quatre's flashlight, those eyes gleamed identically, like rats'. Even in the darkness, he could see their mouths, the ones that even had mouths left, gape open. They were laughing at him.   
    Suddenly, with a burst of speed and fluidity that should have been impossible for the aged dolls, they stumbled towards him. In his head, he saw a doll, one of that looked eerily like Duo, bite into his neck with it's deformed, broken jaws. He felt wooden splinters dig into his throat as it was ripped out. He could even taste thick blood on his tongue, could feel a searing pain where there was no injury. A wooden hand wrapped around leg and Quatre screamed, kicking the doll away from him as more closed in on him. The doll, the wood it made of so old and fragile, practically exploded as his foot made contact, raining a cloud of dust and splinters in the air.   
    Quatre didn't know what was more terrible, the grotesque, animalistic lumbering of the dolls as they came after him, or that laughter that both seemed to come out of the gaping mouths of the little golems and from out of the walls. Laughter that was high pitched and insane and full of bitter mockery. Laughter, Quatre realized, that sounded like a child's.  
    It came to him then that in his fear of the dolls, he had turned his back to the mirror. In his mind's eye, he saw something that might have been a vision or it might have been his imagination; a monstrous, serpentine form and impossibly long, white arms reaching for him from that mirror, a mouth full of teeth like needles...  
    Pure, animal terror exploded in him and Quatre ran to the door. The beam of his flashlight darted all around, making the forms of the lurching dolls even more awful than they already were, and for a moment he thought he wouldn't find it. The room wasn't that big, but in the darkness it was like a gaping chasm he had no hope of escaping from. He almost cried when his fingers touched the door handle. He pulled on it with every ounce of strength he had, so sure that it wouldn't open. Duo would make sure that it wouldn't open. It would get stuck, or not even move a centimeter, held tight by some powerful force, or it wouldn't open in time. The dolls would get him and devour him.  
    The door slid open with impossible easiness, making a loud slamming noise with the force he had used. Quatre didn't stop to question why he would be allowed out of his tomb and he didn't check to see if the dolls were still animated. He ran the very second the door opened wide enough for him to fit through and promptly collided into something hard, something that was human and not the wall of the hallway. Something male. Something that he wasn't so sure was alive.  
    'Duo,' Quatre thought and a hoarse scream was wrenched from him before it registered in him that the figure was taller than the spirit was, and the chest he had run into was warm and familiar.  
    Kind green eyes looked down at him with shock and concern instead of dead, violet ones full of malice. Long arms, as known and loved as his own, wrapped around him tightly, practically crushing him to that familiar chest.   
    "Quatre," Trowa said breathlessly, his voice thick with a bastard mix of fear, relief, disbelief, and joy, all colliding with each other, "I thought..."  
    He didn't need to finish that sentence, Quatre was thinking the same thing, a thing that he couldn't bare to voice out loud.  
  _'I thought I would never see you again.'_  
    Dimly, as he hugged his lover as tightly as Trowa was holding him, Quatre realized that he was crying so hard he was breathing in more tears and dust than actual air and had to force himself to breathe normally. If he thought at all, even for a second, that the dust coating his throat and tongue were from that doll, he might start screaming and he would never be able to get that stopped. It didn't matter, he thought, Trowa was here. The man he loved was here and he wasn't alone. Those dolls didn't matter. The things he had seen didn't matter. The darkness of the hallway and his tight grip on his forgotten flashlight didn't matter. Trowa in his arms was all that mattered. Hearing his heartbeat, just as frantic as his own, through his shirt, rapid but strong and _alive_ was all that ever mattered. Everything else was whispers in his head. The fabric of Trowa's t-shirt in his clenching fingers was the most real thing in the universe.  
    "Where were you?" he was finally able to gasp out when he felt Trowa's own fingers in his hair, hurting him with their eager grip if only he cared about something as unimportant as pain, "How... how did you find me?"  
    "The lights went out," Trowa sounded like he was choking on his words, "when I finally got my torch working again, I was someplace else, someplace on this floor, but I didn't recognize it. Everyone was gone. You were gone. I thought that the worst had happened, that our dreams had come true... I thought that all of you were gone and I..." ' _I was alone_ ,' Quatre thought and remembered those same thoughts and where they had led him, "I ran and ran and _ran_ until I came back to this hallway. Then I heard you scream..."  
    Quatre couldn't tell if Trowa's racing heartbeat was from running, excitement from finding him, or terror. As his boyfriend talked, his grabbing fingers relaxed and stroked his hair lightly.  
    "You're shaking," Trowa murmured, finally realizing that.  
    "The same thing happened to me," Quatre confessed, "One moment I was standing right next to you, then my light died and you were just _gone_. And when my flashlight worked again, I wasn't in those rooms anymore."  
    "Where?" Trowa asked.  
    "T... there," Quatre whispered and pointed with a trembling finger to the door he had run through.   
    The door was closed again, but Quatre had no recollection of shutting it behind him and there was no way it could have shut, even a fraction, unless he had. Trowa untangled himself from his boyfriend, leaving Quatre feeling cold, like the mere absence of his touch had punched a hole in his heart and all of the heat in his body was seeping out through it. He felt utterly abandoned and, for a moment, bitter and angry at his lover for just letting go of him like that when he needed his warmth and companionship so badly. Then everything he felt turned to horror as Trowa reached out to touch the door.  
    "No!" he yelled, "Don't go in there!"  
    Trowa looked at him oddly and Quatre felt his bitterness keenly again. He thought he saw a flash of irritation in those green eyes and, if only for a second, he hated Trowa for it.  
    "I have to, Quatre," Trowa said tiredly and his tone, as though he were explaining something to a small child, needled the other boy, "there might be some clue about what's going on."  
    "There _isn't_ ," the blonde insisted, even though he knew that that was a lie. He had been far too frightened to actually look around the room before, but he really didn't think that there was anything in that cursed room that would tell them where their friends were or why they had been taken only for the two of them to be reunited, "Trowa, _please_ , don't go in there! The dolls in that room..."  
    He couldn't find the right words for what he had seen. Alive was not at all correct for what those dolls were, but neither was haunted or even cursed.  
    "They're... they're _evil_ . They're possessed by something! Just now they tried to..." again he struggled with his words.  
    What had they been trying to do? Kill him? Some part of him, the part of him that sensed these sort of things, knew that Duo had not been the one to animate those dolls, not the spirit that they had seen. It had been something different... something that felt entirely different to Quatre but no less malevolent. Even if it wasn't Duo, he had still sensed that the entity had wanted to harm him, but if it had been trying to kill him, it could have. Yet the dolls had gone after him sluggishly, actually _allowing_ him to reach the door. Had it simply wanted to frighten him? Threaten him? Well, it had certainly succeeded.  
    "You don't have to go back in," Trowa assured him, smiling softly at him, and that tired, irritated tone was gone from his voice. It was as though a stranger had slipped into his lover's skin, but only for a moment before he had come back to himself, "I just want to take a quick peek. If I see anything... _bad_ , we'll make a run for it, ok?"  
    Quatre wanted to tell him no, that just a peek was bad enough, and that running in this place was pointless, but he knew that thinking they were safe just because that door was now closed was just as pointless. Nothing mattered, he reminded himself, nothing they did was going to amount to anything, so what difference did it make? When he was with Trowa, he kept forgetting that they were marked for death.   
    "Here," Trowa wrapped his larger hand around Quatre's, the warmth of his skin driving away all of the chill he felt, "hold my hand. As long as we hold each other's hands, it will be alright. I won't loose you again and I won't let go."  
    Quatre looked down at their hands linked together in the soft, faint glow of their flashlights and felt a deep, brilliant love for the other boy. That love drove away everything else, his fear, his doubts. It even seemed to drive away the dark. He smiled up at his boyfriend and it felt like the most natural thing in the world to him. Everything wasn't pointless. It might be their destiny to die here, but constantly being afraid was as pointless as everything else he had deemed so. Loving Trowa, being with him... those things weren't pointless at all.   
    'Just now... why was I angry at him?' Quatre wondered and felt confused. He couldn't remember where that bitterness had come from. There didn't seem to be a trace of it left in him.   
    Trowa reached for the door with his other hand, and this time, Quatre didn't try to stop him even as he felt himself tremble with fear. He felt incredibly helpless and useless. He had these gifts, this extra perception that could tell him things that a normal person's senses couldn't. He could talk to spirits, sense if a place was haunted, and tell what the people around him were feeling, but for all of his abilities, he couldn't do a single thing to save Trowa. If anything, in this place, his gift was a hindrance. He would rather just not see or feel anything at all.   
    As Trowa's slender fingers touched the handle on the door, Quatre saw with what he could only call his third eye that horrible doll, the one that looked like Duo, or would if it hadn't been terribly degraded and warped. It stood there in the doorway, leering with it's glass eyes, the jagged wood that had once been its mouth stained red with blood. It seemed to look up at Trowa's throat hungrily, like a jackal that had eaten in a very, very long time, it's need for food having driven it mad. Quatre squeezed his eyes closed as he saw those wooden teeth bury themselves in his lover's leg, ripping out a huge chunk, and knowing, hoping it wasn't real.   
    Trowa slid the door open with some effort, the old wood stubborn to give way. It made an unsettling creaking sound as Trowa pushed on it. Quatre's chill grew as he realized that the sound was the same exact one that the dolls' joints had made as they had moved towards him. Both that sound and the door's sluggish movements were impossible. When he had opened it in this flight out of the room, the door had moved effortlessly and soundlessly. Or had it? Quatre grabbed at his head, which was starting to ache. How could he ever trust what he had seen or heard or felt? He had been terrified besides...  
    Trowa took a step into the pitch black room and Quatre grasped his hand tightly. Even with both of their flashlights, when Trowa went inside, the darkness seemed to swallow him up and Quatre felt a weak scream catch in his throat at the sudden thought that the hand attached to his didn't belong to his boyfriend at all, but to some formless specter. He almost let go in his fear, but his other fear, his terror of being separated from Trowa, had him clinging to that hand desperately.   
    The Italian teenager took a step back out into the hallway. He had been in the room for no more than a minute, but to his lover, it had seemed like hours. It was as though his lover had vanished into a different world. He expected Trowa to look frightened like he had, or at least unsettled, but the other boy was almost expressionless.  
    "Come here," he said softly, tugging on Quatre's hand gently and the blonde felt like he had at four years old when his father had forced him to look under the bed to prove to him that there were no monsters under there.  
    "No!" Quatre protested, realizing that Trowa intended to lead him back into that horrible room, "Please, Trowa, I don't want to go back in there! Can't we just go and look for our friends, _please_?" he tugged back on his hand until Trowa released him.  
    Trowa's non-expression quickly turned impatient, a look Quatre had never seen on his usually calm and handsome face before. Again, Quatre felt like a child in the presence of his father instead of his boyfriend and he loathed it.  
    " _Quatre_ ," Trowa said sternly, a tone he had never taken with his lover in the past, "There is _nothing_ in there to be frightened of!" he snapped in exasperation.  
    Horror filled Quatre as Trowa grabbed his wrist and forcefully pulled him into the room. He almost screamed in terror, feeling like he was being dragged to his death.  
    "See?" Trowa said with that impatience and shone his flashlight across the room.      
    The dolls were where they had been the first time the six of them had come here as a group, some strewn, some lined up against the walls of the room, their beady eyes calmly watching them. They hadn't moved at all. The straw dolls hung from the ceiling motionlessly and the saw was where it had been, like he hadn't thrown it at all.   
    With a shaking hand, he touched his neck. Feeling the shallow cut there, burning, was the only thing that kept him sane. At least until he tried to remember if that cut hadn't been there before, if it wasn't one of the serial cuts that had mysteriously shown up on all of them. No matter how many memories he perused through, he just couldn't remember.   
    Trowa's stare was accusatory, searing into him, but what he was accusing him of, Quatre didn't know. Did he think he was lying about the dolls? Drop by drop, his terror was replaced with anger. How could Trowa possibly not believe him?! Trowa _always_ believed him! He knew that he had this accursed sight. So why, why was he looking at him like he was crazy?! The _one person_ in his life that he wanted, needed to believe in him?!  
   _'Don't look at me like that!'_  
    All he had was Trowa, all he had was his believing in him, trusting him, so how could he take that away? How could he not believe that he was telling the truth? How could Trowa leave him behind, leave him in this cold and dark place instead of believing in him?   
    Quatre's hand curled into a fist as an incredible, alien rage burned in him. His wrist throbbed from Trowa dragging him into the room by it. Trowa had done that. He had just pulled him in when he had told him he hadn't wanted to.  
   _'How dare you make decisions for me... Don't I have any say in my life, my fate?!'_  
   **_'I'm not a doll!'_** Quatre almost screamed and for that second that those words rang out in his head, he almost struck his boyfriend.   
    Then all of that doubt, all of Trowa's accusatory stare vanished. It just melted away to nothing, like a mask of vapor, and then it was his lover's usual kind smile. With a gentleness that was startling amidst the anger Quatre had just felt, an anger that he wasn't even sure was his own, Trowa touched his hand.  
    "I'm so sorry, Quatre," the taller boy rubbed at his face with exhaustion, "It's just this place... I'm so tired. I feel like it's still this morning at the same time that I feel like we have been trapped here for days. It's hard to think clearly sometimes..."  
    Quatre's anger dissipated and he wrapped his arms around his lover.  
    "It's ok, I know," he murmured against him, but inside, he was shaking.   
    He had almost struck Trowa just for daring to look at him like that... what was happening to him? What was happening to the both of them? He loved Trowa with all of his heart, he never wanted to hurt him, and he certainly didn't hate him. He felt Trowa bury his face in his golden hair and shuddered. It felt so good, and in the wake of everything he had just felt, unwanted. It was a pure feeling he didn't want to get mixed up in his tainted heart, like planting flower seeds in a parasite infested garden.   
    "Come on," Trowa urged, letting go of Quatre, "let's go find our friends."  
    Quatre nodded, taking Trowa's hand as the Italian led him out of the doll room. Despite every feeling telling him not to, his relief had him looking back.   
    In the mirror a chestnut haired child stood, silently laughing at him.   
  
  
End Part 5  
      
Author's Note: Just a general reminder, since I hardly update this story like I should, there are indicators when something else than what you might think is going on. If this were movie, video game, or television show, this would be easy to notice because of audio clues like differentiated speech or eerie tones, but since this is literature, all speech and thoughts that are meant to be Duo, The Darkness, or The Child are typically italicized, unless I forget ^_^  
  
So, if you see a character thinking something in italics *hinthint*, there's probably more to it than you think. Even if it isn't in italics, if someone is doing something or feeling or thinking something about someone that seems out of character, there is probably a supernatural reason for it, I'm just not going to be obvious about it because I hope people are paying enough attention to notice it.   
  
Originally this part was going to be longer, but since Halloween is now one day away, I decided to cut it a bit short to get this out in time. And now I will focus all of my energy back on A Stagnation of Love for National Novel Writing Month :3  
      
  



	10. Chapter 3 Part 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quatre and Trowa return to the last place they were with their friends, only to find that they are all alone. Facing their own mortality, Quatre asks Trowa for a moment of intimacy.

Beyond the Looking Glass  
Chapter 3: Dolls  
Part 6  
  
    Life is a funny thing. At the time when Duo had first become known to them, while all of his friends had been screaming or cringing back in horror, that was the thought that had gone through Trowa's head. _Life sure is funny_. And life in Nasue is the biggest joke at all. Take, for instance, a few statistics that he had become aware of in the years since he had moved there when he had been a kid. One such statistic was it's residents. Or rather, five statistics. One: Nasue has the largest percentage of immigrants of any Japanese village of it's size. Two: Nasue has among its residents the oldest family lines and the largest percentage of old families. This means that a large percentage of the residents of Nasue are either families that have moved in from foreign countries, or haven't moved in centuries. Three: Nasue has the highest percentage (in a town of it's size, of course) of residents that have moved out of Nasue within three years of their moving there.  
    The fourth and fifth statistic that Trowa had discovered were probably the most baffling, and the most significant. Four: if you were to poll the town's residents on why they enjoyed living in their town, a vast majority would say 'because nothing happens here' or 'this is a quiet town.' This statistic is in direct conflict with Trowa's fifth statistic. Five: In Nasue's long history, even compared to town's three times it's population, Nasue holds the highest mortality rate since the early records of its beginnings, only with the exception of large cities like Tokyo, New York, or London. If one were to look at the actual numbers of deaths, and not just natural deaths, but violent and unnatural ones, one could only conclude that Nasue is anything but a quiet town.  
    Understanding that, how can one come to acknowledge the general held belief of it's residents that nothing happens in Nasue? How can a small town like the one he had lived in for years not find such a fact both startling and frightening? And, above all, why? What made a small, seemingly peaceful place like Nasue so dangerous? What is the most significant and frightening fact of all is that there is no single answer, but many. Given the superstitions surrounding the place, one would be lead to believe that the Matsuei Mansion is the culprit, and surely that would make an adequate ghost story, wouldn't it?   
    But while many reports in the cases of the dead or the missing do have some sort of link to the place, that isn't always the case. There have been plagues and wars and violent crimes, statistically greater than many places. That was the thing that disturbed Trowa the most when he had researched it. If it were just one, single thing, that would have been one issue. But Nasue has had more multiple disasters and violent incidents than many other places around the world. It was the _variety_ and the _consistency_ of these events that caught Trowa's eye. It was the reason why the town's cemetery held the largest amount of space compared to any other public structure.   
    Trowa hadn't discovered these things when they had been researching the mansion, but several years before, when his uncle had moved him here ten years ago. He had only been eight when his parents had been caught in the crossfire of local gang warfare and he had ended up with his uncle as his guardian. Rather abruptly, his uncle had moved them out of France and into Japan, citing a new job opportunity. It had taken Trowa years after that his uncle, a detective, really had been offered a job to join Nasue's law enforcement, but under rather... dubious means. The previous detective, who like his uncle, had been a transfer and had only held his station for three months, had mysteriously disappeared.   
    Trowa had been unable to dig up much about the man's disappearance, only that he had been working on a missing person's case and had vanished very suddenly. At first, it had been rumored that he had done what so many had: just left town with no notice. But all of his belongings were still in his house. He became one of many that had been 'spirited away' in the town, although people still liked to rumor that he had run off with some woman. What was the most peculiar to Trowa was how difficult it became after that for the town to employ another detective. No one in town seemed to want the job, even those on the small police force that could have been promoted. Those that were reached out in neighboring towns and even as far away as Tokyo always denied the position.   
    The more that Trowa had investigated, the more it seemed that keeping detectives in Nasue was a... difficult affair. More often than not, they ended up vanishing, moving out, or dying. No one would come out and say it directly, but Trowa got the impression that this was not unknown to most people in Nasue, even to the police force. But it was just one of those things that no one in town talked about, unless they were gossiping in whispered voices. Then enter his uncle, a man suddenly burdened with a young child in one of the most violent and crime ridden parts of Paris. Offered a better salary, in a 'quiet' town, how could he have turned the position down, even if it meant moving to an unknown country?  
    Strangely, it seemed like even his uncle was unaware of the place that he had moved them to. If he was aware of Nasue's very strange history and mortality rate, he never talked about it around Trowa, and he acted oblivious about it. Sure, he investigated a lot of missing persons cases, but when Trowa had asked if he thought the number of them was odd, he had only replied, "This is a small, boring town, Trowa. Of course there are a lot of people who have moved on to bigger things."   
    He had even asked his uncle about the Matsuei Mansion once, after his uncle had told him about going there once for one of his cases. "It's just a house," he had said, but when Trowa had tried to pry more information from him about it, what it had looked like inside, his uncle had become strangely quiet and withdrawn and had lectured Trowa sternly about never going there, not because there was anything _wrong_ with the place, it was just falling apart, he had insisted.  
    Trowa hadn't told his friends any of this when they had decided to go to the mansion simply because, for all of his research, what did he have? Just feelings, a sense of wrong. Not too different, he supposed, from one of Quatre's visions. He could see the humor of it now. He had known all these things about the town, but just like everyone that lived here, he had ignored them, pushed them aside like they were nothing more than strange facts that didn't add up to anything. But now that he knew... now that they were there in that mansion, all those facts suddenly added up to something terrifying.  
    When the front doors had closed on them and they had realized that they were trapped in the mansion, Trowa had even thought with some dark humor, 'soon I'll just be another missing persons case on my uncle's desk.' If they all weren't already... That disturbing thought had occurred to him several times since they had become trapped here. They all kept thinking that they had been in that mansion for days, and maybe that was the truth. Maybe, even though time seemed to be standing still for them, outside of that place, time was continuing on and they had been missing for who even knew how long.   
    Trowa remembered the shared dream that had all had, of being picked off one by one and Relena and Zechs's parents coming to the mansion to look for them. What if that hadn't been a dream at all? What if that had been a vision of the future? After all, in a place like this, where the past and present were merging over one another, why shouldn't he believe that the future was, as well? Maybe it would happen that way, Duo would just kill them, one at a time, and either leave them for their parents to find or spirit them away into this frozen pocket. Would they be doomed to live through this night for eternity? Was that what had happened to all those missing people?   
    The thought terrified him. Being forced to live in this nightmare over and over and over, forever, or being brutally murdered and having their spirits trapped in this place... weren't they the same thing? To be trapped in this endless night, struggling to survive against something impossible... Trowa could understand why the ghosts in this place were so pissed off. As he walked down the hall to the guest rooms with Quatre, Trowa's thoughts immediately turned to Duo. If he thought about all of the hours that they had spent here in this place, all the things that they had seen and felt in comparison to the minutes and hours and days and, hell, maybe even _weeks_ that they might be trapped here before being either optimistically rescued or killed, Trowa thought that he might actually go mad.  
    Every second that they were there, that terror and horror mounting in them, was awful, but if it was so terrible for them, what might it have been like for Duo? How long had he been trapped in this hell with only the dead to keep him company? A hundred years? Two hundred? At most, Trowa and his friends had been there for days... what could it have been like for their 'host' to be stuck for what amounted to an eternity either in this frozen place or the real world outside of it? Over two centuries had passed him by. Wouldn't that drive anyone insane, dead or alive?   
    In a fucked up way, Trowa could sympathize with the ghost. He could look past his own terror in a way that those like Relena and Wufei couldn't, and just look at everything subjectively. It was that trait that was keeping him from flying off the handle or doing something crazy. Well, almost. Because, really, what had been his thoughts and actions in the doll room, feeling resentful at his lover for his gift, disbelieving him, getting angry at him for no reason, but a moment of insanity?   
    Anger had never come easily to him like that. He had always been known amongst his group of friends as the level headed one, always thinking logically instead of emotionally, always the one to break up any fights or arguments. He had been that way his entire life, so that he could treat Quatre like that, even in a situation like this... Maybe he could understand losing his temper a little, even getting annoyed at his boyfriend, that seemed like a natural reaction to the kind of stress that they were under. But those feelings had seemed to come from absolutely nowhere. Worse was that sensation of disbelief that he had had when he had found the doll room untouched. Somewhere, from some deep, dark corner of himself, had come the thought that Quatre had been lying, just messing with him, or had been hysterical and seeing things.   
    He could still remember the day that Quatre had told him that he could 'see' things. They had gone to a summer festival in town and Quatre had gotten horribly ill. His best friend had claimed that he had just eaten too much, but even when they had walked towards their homes that night, Quatre had seemed shaken by something. After some time, Trowa had managed to pry the truth out of him in little bits, that his stomach _had_ been upset, but not from the food. He had said that it was that house, the Matsuei mansion that had sickened him. It was then that his friend, and soon to be boyfriend, had confessed to him that he was psychic, he could sense and see and hear things that most people can't. And that night, while looking up at that house, he had sensed something evil looking down at him.  
    A year later, Quatre had another incident. Not nearly as terrible as the time at the festival, but perhaps more so, considering that it had involved one of their friends. They had just been hanging out together at Relena and Zechs's home, playing video games, when it had happened. Heero had kept losing to Wufei and they had gotten into some fight about it. Not a real fight, just one of those arguments that teenaged boys get into that escalates into a bit of rough housing. Heero had taken Wufei's controller away from him and in his attempt to get it back, Wufei had jokingly wrapped the controller cord around Heero's neck, not tightly, just as a jest.   
    Heero, who was far from a violent person, suddenly snapped and shoved at Wufei, pushing him over and almost into the coffee table. A real fight had almost started just then when Quatre had walked into the room after having gone into the bathroom and had bumped into Heero. The blonde teenager had gone deathly pale and stared at their Japanese friend like he was some kind of demon before falling to the floor on his knees. As all of them had rushed to Quatre's side and Heero had reached out to try to steady him, Quatre had flinched away from him in fear. Trowa hadn't seen that look of pure terror on his boyfriend's face since that night at the festival.   
    "You have a shadow in your back," he had said to Heero.   
    While the rest of their friends had just looked puzzled, Heero had seemed incredibly unnerved, even scared, by those words. Trowa supposed that quite a few people would be to hear something so ominous. Avi had quickly tried to smooth the whole thing over when he snapped out of whatever vision he had had, saying that he had just become light headed, but Heero had refused to let it go, demanding to know what he had meant.  
    Finally, Quatre had come clean to all of them about his gift. Relena and Wufei hadn't believed him, at the time, talking about his belief that he was psychic like he was delusional. Zechs had been skeptical, but not condescending, clearly on the fence about it. Heero had seemed even more neutral, not disbelieving, but not seeming to really care one way or the other. Until they had come to this place, Trowa had been the only one to ever take Quatre's claims at face value.   
    And why shouldn't he? Quatre wouldn't lie about something like that. If he believed that he was psychic, then Trowa believed him, as simple as that. And as their relationship grew and Quatre had these... moment of clairvoyance, of just _knowing_ things that he couldn't possibly have known, Trowa hadn't needed any faith in Quatre's character to believe him. So he just couldn't understand where that bitter disbelief had come from. Never, in all of the years since he had discovered Quatre's talent, had he ever disbelieved any of his visions, even that one that he had had about Heero.  
    Now, as he and his lover walked side by side in the near, pitch black of the hallway, his thoughts returned to that day. Quatre's words still chilled him right to the damn bone. 'You have a shadow in your back.' Why were those words so frightening? At first, he hadn't been able to put his finger on it, but as the moment settled into his mind, and he found himself going over it again and again and again, he realized something. Quatre hadn't said 'you have a shadow behind you' or even 'you have a shadow on your back'. He had said, very clearly ' _in_ your back'.   
    "Are you sure that's what you saw?" he had asked him a few days later.  
    "Yes," his best friend had said, his eyes downcast and filled with some unknown nervousness, "It was coming out of his back."  
    This had been in late August, when the sun was brutal and unforgiving, but at that moment, Trowa had felt a deep, dark chill. The same inexplicable chill he would later experience walking into the mansion on an equally hot day. He had tried harder to get Quatre to talk about the vision and what it might mean, but the blonde had been stubborn about trying to forget it, not wanting to even talk about that shadow. Then, Heero's parents had died in that terrible accident and Trowa had assumed that all Quatre had seen was a glimpse into the future, a mark on their friend, warning of the accident and deaths of his mother and father.   
    "Have you seen the shadow since?" he had asked, days after the funeral, "Is it gone now?"  
    "I hadn't seen it since that day. But now... now I see it all the time," Quatre had admitted in whispered horror, his blue eyes distant, like he was in some other place.  
    They hadn't talked about it since that day, but Trowa had never forgotten. What that shadow meant for his friend, he didn't know. Had Heero been marked for death and had escaped it somehow, that shadow like a permanent scar? Or was it just from being so close to death, to witnessing it? Trowa hoped that they would never know. Some things were just too terrible. Like this house. Hell, like this whole situation. And now they were separated from their friends, might not even see them again, and he was getting angry at his boyfriend just for being scared of something that any sane person would have been terrified of. What was happening to him? To all of them?  
    "Were any of the others with you when you were..." Trowa almost said 'spirited away,' but just then, he really hated that term. It was too apt, "... when you were taken?"  
    "No," Quatre said solemnly, "I was alone."  
    In the glow of their flashlights, his eyes seemed too big with the lines of tiredness under them, too luminescent, and his skin as deathly pale as a specter's, making him look like a child for a moment that made Trowa ache for him.  
    "So was I," Trowa murmured.   
    'I'm sure that they're ok,' was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't bear to say that anymore than he could bear saying that they had been spirited away by a demon. It would have been a lie anyway because, one of the things that he _was_ sure of was that their friends weren't ok. If they had all been taken and it hadn't just been the two of them, then they were all alone, lost, and afraid. Maybe even one or two of them were dead. That thought shook him all the way to his heart, but he was too realistic to not think it.     He truly didn't believe that they were going to find anyone going back to the guest rooms, but it was better than stumbling around in the dark looking for their friends, wasn't it? If everyone really had been taken like they had, they would go back there, wouldn't they? Unless Duo didn't want them to. That thought wore at him, over and over. 'Someone is probably dead.' Who would it be? Who would be the first of them?   
    Some stubborn part of himself wanted to shake off those thoughts, to believe that just because they were trapped, just because Quatre had these feelings, it didn't mean that any of them were going to die. It didn't even mean that Duo wanted to kill them. But... while he was far from psychic like his boyfriend... Trowa had this feeling in himself that killing them was exactly what the spirit wanted. No, it wanted more than that. It wanted to hurt them. And Trowa wasn't so sure that their salvation was discovering _why_.   
    "Can you sense any of the others?" he asked Quatre and felt dismay when he shook his head.  
    "It's like trying to find a single person in a mob," the short blonde said morosely, "There are so many voices here, so many people, it's impossible to pick out anything with all this screaming and confusion. And I'm afraid that if I try too hard, something is going to answer me."  
    That was more than enough to make Trowa shiver. No, he didn't want his lover poking around in this place, stirring up the dead. They were having enough problems with ghosts as it was.   
    "I just don't understand," Trowa murmured, partially to himself, "He separated us, but why? Why not just kill all of us when we were alone? Hell, why not just kill us when we were together, it's not like being in a group is protecting us, is it?"  
    "He doesn't want this to end just yet," Quatre said very softly and when Trowa looked over at him, his eyes had that glazed, far off look that he got when he was sensing something, "He's not done playing with us."  
    There was that chill again. Playing with them, like a bored predator that had finally spotted prey and didn't want the hunt to end too soon. Then he hadn't separated them to single any one of them out, but merely to frighten them? To make them feel alone and isolated? Well, it had certainly worked. But he and Quatre had found each other again. How long would the spirit wait before ripping them apart again?   
    In the dark, Trowa found Quatre's hand and wrapped his own around it. In the midst of all of his terrible thoughts and fears, his lover's skin felt so warm and real and alive. Touching it was both blissful and painful, frightening and wonderful. No matter what Quatre said or any of them felt, they were still alive. There was still that, right? They were together and Trowa would do anything to not be torn away from the boy that he loved. The mere thought of it happening again... of stumbling around this strange, dark place, looking for someone, anyone, and feeling like he was the only one left alive in the entire world had him shaking. Quatre squeezed his hand back and the two of them smiled at each other. Trowa hoped that his other friends had managed to be reunited with someone as well, trying not think of how he had felt when he had woken up, alone and with Quatre missing.  
    The door to the guest rooms was ajar, just how they had left it and the two of them went in, praying and hoping that they would find _someone_ there. But, just as Trowa had thought and to Quatre's mounting feelings of hopelessness, there wasn't a single person in there. The doll that Heero had thrown was exactly where it should have been, along with the other items that they had disturbed when they had been looking for clues, but there were no further signs of their friends. They had just vanished. Calls of their friends' names went unanswered.  
    "What should we do?" Quatre asked Trowa desperately and for only a moment, Trowa felt that bitterness well up in him again.  
    Why should it be up to him to make that kind of decision? Why couldn't his boyfriend come up with something on his own? He was always like that. Even with his abilities, he always relied on Trowa for everything. If there was ever a situation where they needed to make a choice or craft a plan, Quatre always would ask him what they should do. Always him, like he knew the right thing, like there was some goddamned, written rule that Trowa should be the one to stick his neck out.  
    And it wasn't just Quatre, either. All of his friends went to him with their problems. Good, old, reliable Trowa. It was sickening and tiring. Maybe, for once, he wanted to be the one to rely on someone else! Maybe, just this one time, Quatre should grow a backbone and make a decision of his own! Trowa shook his head and rubbed at his forehead, suddenly feeling a deep ache of pain there. What was he thinking in a time like this? Why was this frustration threatening to pour out of him, this anger at the person that he loved who was just as scared and lost as he was?   
    "There's no point looking for them," he decided, hoping that Quatre hadn't noticed his sudden lapse of control, "They could be anywhere in this entire place, we'll only get lost. The first thing any of them will do is the first thing that we did: come back here."  
    Quatre nodded in agreement, but it was less because of Trowa's logic and more because he didn't want to walk around the mansion anymore. He had seen enough horror to last several lifetimes. All he wanted was to stay with Trowa and hope that the spirits of the place would leave them in peace for a little while. He found a futon on the floor by a wall and an old, tattered paper lantern and sat down on it, leaning his back against the wall. The futon felt wrong; lumpy and battered and probably moldy, but it was the closest thing to comfort that he was going to get.  
    Trowa sat down next to him, holding his hand again. They sat like that in the dark for a very long time together, neither of them able to say that it was nice, not with as secretly frightened as they were, but it was comforting, just being together. In an odd way, it was more comforting with just the two of them there instead of with their group of friends. They leaned against one another, not having to worry about displays of affection. Trowa was rather private about those sorts of things.   
    But more than that, at least to Quatre, being away from the others was a relief. He would never tell them, but being attacked by the energies and voices in this place, only to have their own emotions screaming at him as well, was tiring. Most of all, he was glad to be away from Heero. He wouldn't admit this to anyone, either, but his friend was scaring him a little. Not in any concrete way, nor did he have any suspicions against him, he just... frightened him sometimes. The more time that they spent in the mansion, the more that Quatre felt Heero was drifting away from them.   
    The same friend that he had had for almost a decade seemed so peculiar now, like a stranger to him. He was doing things and saying things that seemed so out of character. He was seeing visions like Quatre did, when none of their other friends had, and there was just something about him that seemed... not wrong, but... It was like seeing something alarming in the corner of your eye. It immediately catches your attention and startles you, but when you try to look at it directly, it's some innocuous thing. Heero so often now seemed distracted and would have this far off look. And sometimes, although Quatre wanted to believe that it was just his imagination, his Japanese friend seemed irritated by their mere presence, like his friends were a nuisance to him, and other times it was like they didn't exist to him at all.   
    It worried Quatre as much as Trowa's strange behavior and their dwindling food supply. That was another thing that he was trying very hard not to think about. It wasn't like they could go foraging for food in this place. Sure, they could go outside into the courtyard, but Quatre had the very strong suspicion that there wasn't anything _living_ out there beyond those strange vines. They hadn't brought a lot of food with them to begin with. They might be able to stretch it out for a week, if they rationed it, but then what? What if, by then, they were still here?   
    That was as horrible a thought as running out of food, still being here. But it was very plausible. After all, how long had they been there already? It was impossible to tell anymore. He had had no idea how disorientating it was, to not have something as simple and natural as the sun to tell them the passing of time. It was akin to being kicked while you were already down, not knowing how long you had suffered for. Even criminals in prisons had that luxury.   
    And for that matter, how the hell could they ever ration their food out if they didn't know when the day started or ended? It felt like they had been there for three days already, but for all they knew, it had been less than that. Now that he was really thinking about it... when had they eaten last? For the life of him, he couldn't remember. It seemed like an eternity ago. His terror had kept his hunger as just this hollow feeling in his gut, but now that he was actually focused on it, he could feel how drained and tired he felt, that encroaching headache that comes from not eating.  
    "How long has it been since we've eaten anything?" he asked his boyfriend, "Or had anything to drink?"  
    Trowa furrowed his brow, trying to remember himself, but his expression quickly became blank.  
    "I can't remember," he confessed and wondered if that, itself, was a product of not having eaten for awhile or their inability to tell time.  
    "Who had the pack last? Can you remember?" Quatre asked desperately.  
    "Wufei," his lover said after a few minutes of thought, "He was carrying it when we were all in here together."  
    That brought a whole new list of fears and worries to Quatre's mind. What if they never found Wufei again? What little food they had left, and water as well, was in that pack. They were already hungry. They could last a little while without any food, but water was a different story, and how long could they last before the lack of food started to become an issue? Before they became too weak to run or move? Before their bodies started eating themselves? How long before the lack of food started to effect their organs and their minds?   
    "If... if we don't find the pack... how long can we go without eating any food?" he asked, confident that his studious lover would know a thing like that.  
    "If we can't find anything at all to eat," Trowa told him, "We can probably survive for about three weeks. But if we don't have any water, only about three days."  
    Quatre didn't think that they were going to survive for three weeks in that place, but he had no idea what the temporal physics were. Were their bodies progressing in the same rate of time as in the actual world? He felt hungrier than he had before they had all disappeared, so he supposed that it was logical to assume that, but maybe it wasn't. Maybe they could survive indefinitely with no food, or maybe they would starve faster. It was impossible to know. And then there was the little voice in his head crying that it didn't want to be here for even another day, let alone three weeks. That was akin to madness. He mentally screamed back at it that if time really wasn't progressing like it normally would and they ended up there for so much longer, then what was three weeks? For all that he knew, they were going to be trapped there for years, waiting in insanity for all of it to end, even knowing that it was never going to.  
    "Water might not be a problem," Quatre mused, "There was a well outside and that swamp beyond the courtyard. If we could find materials to make a filter, we could make the swamp water drinkable. It's not much, but at least we won't become dehydrated."  
    It was the first, positive thing he had managed to think of since they had become trapped. Of course, the well might be dry and the swamp might be too polluted for the water to be drinkable. Or, in a cursed place like this, the water might be poisoned or have some horrible effect. But Quatre didn't want to voice those things out loud, and he was glad that he didn't when some lines of stress disappeared from Trowa's face and he actually looked optimistic. Quatre would do anything to keep that look on his boyfriend's face, even lie to him.   
    'As long as we're alive,' he thought to himself, 'there's hope, isn't there?'  
    He wrapped his arm around Trowa's and leaned heavily against him. He thought that he could hear his childhood friend's heart beat, fast and frightened, but strong, his warmth and smell more of a comfort than the thought of water. How could he have ever been mad at him back there in the doll's room? He had felt angry enough to strike the boy that he loved, and he had never felt that way before in all of the years that he had known Trowa. Was he so stressed that he could snap so easily like that?  
    'No, not stress,' he thought, staring deeply into the beam of Trowa's flashlight, 'Those feelings... they weren't mine. They were and they weren't... They had come from me... my insecurities and fears... but at the same time, they had come from some place else. _Duo_. That was his rage that I felt, his fury and bitterness. He's infecting us just like he's infecting this house, seeping in through our very beings. Maybe he can't make us do things, or maybe he can and this is just more entertaining to him, but he can certainly influence us. How can any of us possible defend ourselves from our emotions and thoughts?'  
    The answer, of course, was the same as asking what they could do to stop the malevolent spirit from killing or hurting them. There was nothing at all that they could do.   
    "We should save these," Trowa gestured to his flashlight, "We've been using them a lot, who knows how much longer they're going to last."  
    Quatre went pale under the torch's light, remembering his ordeal in the doll room, the terror he had felt when he had been unable to turn his own flashlight on. The things that he had sensed in that pitch blackness...  
    "Please don't, Trowa," he begged desperately, his blue-green eyes wide with fear at the thought of being there in the dark, even with his boyfriend there.  
    He knew that it didn't make any kind of difference towards there survival, but the thought of being submerged in that thoughtless, senseless dark again almost had him screaming.   
    "Don't worry," Trowa said softly and smiled at him.  
    That warm, familiar smile was enough to soothe his fears away. Of course his lover wouldn't let the dark in. He wouldn't do that to him, not Trowa. The taller boy dug in his pocket and showed Quatre a box of matches that he had thought to bring with him, very glad that he hadn't pooled it with the rest of their resources and had kept it on him. For a moment, the both of them were positive that when Trowa struck one of them, it wouldn't light. The forces in the mansion wouldn't give them the light that they needed, Quatre was sure of it, just like it had taken away his flashlight's power when he had needed it the most. So the sight of the tiny flame at the end of the matchstick was like a blessing from some god.   
    Trowa lit the lantern and flicked his flashlight off. The holes in the paper made from age and rot made the lantern cast long, eerie shadows around the room, but Quatre was still thankful for the light. He rested his head against Trowa's arm again and closed his eyes, trying to see if he could hear his heart beat again. He tried to trick himself into thinking that this was just another one of those midnight excursions they had during the sakura viewing season. The two of them would camp out by the river and watch the blossoms fall, the only source of light some tea lights by the river bed, the moon, and fireflies, and they would drink plum sake and eat whatever Trowa had packed for them.   
    But no matter how hard he imagined those peaceful, romantic times together, kissing under the moonlight, he couldn't fool himself. The smell of dust and time wasn't summer grass and the lantern light with it's strange, gnarled shadows weren't glowing fireflies. The only thing that was the same at all was the feeling of Trowa's skin against his and the smell of his sweat. Right then, it was the most wonderful smell in the entire world. He looked over at his boyfriend and watched him as he stared ahead, blankly, lost in some thought.   
    He was beautiful. Actually beautiful. His long face and cinnamon colored hair, pointed chin, and the shade of his skin, neither tan nor pale. Quatre loved his long, thin neck and wide shoulders, his slender hands and the curve of his back when his shirt slipped up enough to give him the briefest hints of it. But more than anything, he loved his dark green eyes. They were the kind of eyes that you would envision belonging to some elf or dryad, the color of rich grass or moss.   
    "Trowa," Quatre said out loud before he was even consciously aware of what he was saying, his heart hammering in an equal mixture of love and fear. It was only when those lovely green eyes met his that he spoke again, "make love to me."  
    Trowa's eyes widened in shock, but it was only for a second. As what Quatre was asking him eventually filtered through him, his own expression became heated. When Quatre saw it, that look that was so familiar to the both of them, a look of love and passion, he felt tears drip down his cheeks. They felt odd to him, cold and making tracks on the dust that smudged his pale skin, but also welcome. Feeling them, for the first time since this whole nightmare had begun, he felt human again.  
    Trowa answered his request with a hard, demanding, open mouthed kiss. Quatre all too happily fell into it, kissing his lover's lips back with just as much passion, Trowa's touch flipping some switch deep inside of him. Their kisses were different than how they usually made out. They were more desperate, their fear making them kiss rougher, almost violently, and when Trowa put his hand on Quatre's arm, his grip was tight, like he was trying to anchor his lover down, keep him there like he might disappear at any moment. Quatre's heart raced with something other than fear as Trowa attacked his pale neck with his lips, tongue, and even his teeth, nipping him hard enough to bruise. Quatre moaned and cocked his head to the side to give Trowa more skin to assault.   
    How could something so simple and small feel so good? Just the feeling of Trowa's lips on his skin was enough to make him cry out in pure happiness. Every time that they had had sex, it had been slow and careful and tender, but this time felt different to him. They needed it too badly, their feelings of affection for each other mixed up with their fear, anxiety, and anger at their situation. Every touch was hard and electric, a bit too rough, but Quatre thought that that was ok. His own feelings of passion seemed to be spilling over. He tangled his hands in Trowa's short, brown hair, his fingers roaming like vagrants over Trowa's arms, back, anywhere that they could reach.   
    "I love you so much," the French boy moaned into his neck and sucked on that juncture between his neck and shoulder like it was a reservoir and he was dying of thirst.  
    "Me, too," Quatre breathed out, "Oh, god, me, too."  
    'Just a moment,' he pleaded to whoever, or whatever, might be listening to such prayers, 'Just for a moment, let me have this. Let me have him. Let me forget where we are and why we need this so badly and just let me forget myself in him for a little while.'  
    When Trowa incessantly nudged at him, almost pushing him, to lay down on the futon, Quatre let him. Dust flew from the futon at their combined weight as Trowa loomed over him, straddling him, his hands pressed against the aged cloth near Quatre's shoulders, but it didn't exist to either of them. The smell of mold soaked into the bedding was nothing compared to the heat of Trowa's mouth as he kissed Quatre's throat. The shadows and the darkness itself vanished when Trowa's cool hands slid under his t-shirt and ran over his stomach and thin chest. Quatre wrapped his legs around his lover's waist, trying to press himself as fully as he could against the other teenager. He felt a sudden and irrational hatred for their clothing, wishing that he could feel Trowa's body against his own like he often could when they made love in the privacy of their bedrooms. But privacy was an illusion where they were now. Quatre wasn't a exhibitionist and the thought that any of their friends could walk in on them just then was disturbing.  
    'Anything can be watching us right now,' Quatre thought chillingly, thinking of all the open doors, all of the mirrors, all of the things lurking in the shadows, and promptly tossed those thoughts away as Trowa regained his attention, pushing up his shirt and kissing his flat stomach.  
    Trowa was in heaven. At least, he was as close to heaven as he was ever going to get in their current situation. It felt odd at first, making out with his boyfriend in this strange and dangerous place, but soon Quatre's smooth, warm skin was under his hands and lips and then nothing else in the entire world mattered to him. He easily, from memory more than any kind of ability to see in the dim light of the lantern, found Quatre's nipples, soft and delicate, and sucked at one. It was like a flower petal on his tongue, the salt of Quatre's skin tasted sweet, and the feeling of that skin bunching up as his nipple hardened from the sensation was more erotic than his moans.   
    Quatre cried out in pleasure as he felt Trowa's tongue twirl around his right nipple, one of his hands working at the other and tightened the grip that his legs had on him. He gasped his lover's name, arching his chest a little to show his appreciation of what Trowa was doing. When he stopped, the short blonde could have cried out at the loss, but Trowa's lips pressed against his again, his tongue slipping into his open mouth, and Quatre forgot about his neglected nipples for the moment. He could feel his boyfriend's hands fumbling at the button of his jeans even as he continued to kiss him. Quatre unwound his legs from Trowa's waist and helped him to unbutton his pants, lifting his hips so they and his underwear could be slid off of him along with his sneakers. Trowa pulled away from Quatre's mouth and eagerly slid his hand back down the blonde's body, wanting to touching everything that his clothes had kept from him.   
    Quatre happily returned Trowa's favors as the taller boy's fingers traced over the planes of his stomach and groin, trailing through his light and thin pubic hair. The blue-eyed boy kissed feverishly at Trowa's throat while his own hands quested between their bodies for the zipper on his lover's Jeans, tugging it down when he found it. But when he felt those long, expert fingers wrap around his cock, he jolted like he had just been shot. Trowa paused, feeling that Quatre was completely limp.  
    "I am so sorry," the blonde apologized, his face turning beat red in shame at his inability to respond, even to Trowa's touch, "I just..."  
    He wanted the floor to swallow him up in his embarrassment. In all of the times that they had made love, even that first time, which had been far from perfect, he had never had a problem like this. Trowa's touch had always excited him and even the blandest of wet dreams that he had had with him in it had given him an erection. But even though his boyfriend was making him just as hot as he always did, as rushed as they were going, in the back of his mind, he couldn't forget where they were. He couldn't stop feeling that prickling along the edge of his senses that told them that something was watching them, that they were some place dangerous and terrible. The things that Trowa was making him feel were wonderful. They took him to someplace familiar, someplace warm and full of love. But beneath them, there was that coldness that was worse than ice. Beneath everything, there was still that stench of death.  
    "It's alright," Trowa smiled at him, reassuring him with just that one look, "I'm having a difficult time, too. This place isn't exactly... ideal for this sort of thing."  
    It wasn't really that funny, but a short, bubble of laughter burst out of Quatre, one that was awkward, nervous, and maybe a little bit shocked. Still, it felt so good to laugh and even Trowa indulged in a small chuckle at their expense. Quatre reached down between them and slid his hand into the open gap of his boyfriend's jeans and into the slit of his boxers. When he found what he was looking for, he was shocked for a moment that Trowa hadn't been lying to make him feel better. Trowa was faring a bit better than Quatre was, but his length was only barely half hard, when usually at this point the both of them were firing on all cylinders.   
    Feeling Trowa's own stress and 'difficulties' made Quatre more confident and he had to admit that just feeling that silken, hot organ in his hand made him harden a little bit. He drew it out and into the open, relieved to not be the only one exposed anymore. He even found the ability to smile when his lover groaned as he started to stroke him slowly down there, feeling him harden a little bit more at his touch. Quatre was baffled when Trowa's hand touched his and pried it from his erection, but then he was moving down his body, and soft, familiar lips kissed at his own, struggling member. It was hard to think about anything at all at that point.   
    "Please," he begged and moaned when he felt a slick, wet tongue lick him from the base of his penis, up the underside of it to almost the head.  
    "Let me take care of it," Trowa murmured as he kissed the circumcised head and promptly swallowed it completely, without warning the other boy at all.  
    Quatre cried out loudly and arched his back as his lover's mouth moved up and down on him. Even his anxiety wasn't enough to keep his cock from fully hardening at the feeling. Oral sex was always his biggest weakness, but when Trowa, almost sneakily, started to prod his hole with one finger, he was gone. His cry quickly turned to a groan of frustration when Trowa slid off of his erection.  
    "There," the French boy teased with a smirk, "All better."  
    Quatre started to glare at him for stopping so abruptly, but the effect was ruined as he gasped, feeling that prodding finger suddenly slide inside of him. That was something that he still couldn't get used to, the sensation of something penetrating him in that spot. It wasn't unpleasant, just strange and intense. It made him feel so vulnerable, but that wasn't a bad thing, either.  
    "Do you... ah," he moaned as that long finger moved inside of him, "Did you bring anything?"  
    Trowa paused in what he was doing for a second, doubt clouding the lust in his expression.  
    "No," he admitted, "I didn't think that we would be having sex in this place when I packed the supplies."  
    Quatre couldn't help another little burst of nervous laughter at that. A lot of things had happened that they hadn't prepared for, hadn't they? He supposed that his lover not having lube on him was a stupid thing to complain about under the circumstances, like their not having enough food or water or, another ever growing concern, medical supplies.   
    "Do you want to stop?" Trowa asked him.  
    Right then, hearing how much Trowa didn't want to stop in his voice, but still asking him if he wanted to, Quatre loved him more than he ever had before.  
    "No," Quatre decided.  
    "Are you sure?" Trowa pressed, "It's going to hurt."  
    Quatre smiled up at him.   
    "I'll bear with it," he said warmly, "I want this too badly."  
    "Alright. I'll go slowly," his boyfriend promised.  
    Trowa took the time to suck on two of his fingers, getting them coated with saliva, before he continued to try to get his lover ready. Just like he had promised, he was slow and careful as he slid his fingers inside of him, working them in and out for several minutes while Quatre tried not to moan. It was difficult for Trowa as well. The feeling of that familiar flesh gripping around his fingers was maddening and he had to fight against his instinct to just get it over with and push himself inside of that heat. But he wouldn't hurt Quatre, not if he could help it.  
    "Hurry," the blonde suddenly urged him, squirming where he lay from impatience and desire.  
    Trowa just chuckled, but took it as a good sign that Quatre was ready. The more he wanted it, the less he was going to tense up and it was going to hurt him. He pulled his fingers out, feeling oddly bereft. Giving his boyfriend just a single, apologetic glance, he spit in his hand. Spit was just about the worst thing to use for lube, but it was better than nothing. He stroked himself hard and roughly until pre-cum started to drip out of his slit, but managed enough self control not to keep going until he exploded, as much as he wanted to. Instead, he smeared the mix of spit and pre-cum over himself, hoping that it would make him slick enough to make things a bit easier, not that he had much of a choice.  
     "Sit up," he ordered Quatre and when the other boy did so, he wrapped an arm around his slender waist, drawing him into his lap.  
    Almost instinctually, Quatre lifted up his hips and rested himself so his legs were straddling Trowa again, his feet planted and balanced on the futon. The head of Trowa's erect cock slid insistently between his buttocks and when Quatre felt it press against his hole, something surged excitedly inside of him, an instinct as old and primal as survival. Trowa held Quatre's hips firmly to make sure that his boyfriend didn't move and end up hurting either of them.  
    Quatre hissed in pain as the other teenager began to press the head of his cock against his hole and he could already feel a little bit of a sting as muscles stretched to accommodate the intrusion.   
    "Sorry," Trowa apologized in a rush, stopping what he was doing.  
    "Don't," Quatre pleaded and fought against Trowa's grip on him to push down a little, letting a bit more, no more than half an inch, penetrate him even as he gritted his teeth, "I can take it."  
    "You're rushing," Trowa said firmly, but he couldn't make himself withdraw.  
    It was complete and total torture. He could feel hot, silken muscles squeezing down on him and his body wanted nothing more than to bury his length into the body that he knew so well, but he couldn't do that.   
    "Slowly," he reminded Quatre, and patiently waited.  
    The blonde wriggled a little against the pole his own body both yearned for and was fighting against, trying to make his muscles loosen up.   
    "Breathe," his lover soothed and Quatre did, taking deep, frustrated breaths.  
    After what seemed like an eternity, Trowa tried again, lazily pushing a little more of his length into the other boy. Quatre trembled in his grip from a mix of discomfort and eagerness. He pushed down lightly, trying to move with Trowa instead of forcing things, but his muscles were straining, not wanting to accept the burning pain, not used to the barest amount of lubrication that Trowa had used. Suddenly, like a miracle, the entire head of Trowa's erection opened up the tight ring of muscles that was keeping it at bay and slid inside of him fully with almost startling ease.  
    Quatre gasped and wrapped his arms around Trowa's shoulders in shock at the feeling. It wasn't necessarily a good feeling. He felt the bite of pain inside of him from the penetration, but as Trowa boldly pushed forward, taking the chance while Quatre's body was no longer fighting him, the solid organ inside of him stroked against nerves that were used to this sort of activity by then. His groan was a confused mix of pain and pleasure as it seemed to just keeping going and going and going up inside of him. Quatre squeezed his eyes shit and gripped at Trowa's shoulders, pressing his face into the comforting crook of his neck and panted. He could feel cold sweat making his shirt stick to his back and his hips shook from exertion.  
    "Ok?" he heard his boyfriend ask, his voice tinged with worry.  
    "Hurts a little," Quatre had to admit as his inside burned and stung, wanting to push out the offending object, but instead of begging Trowa to take it out, he could only say, "Don't stop."  
    Trowa felt relief at Quatre's request. In all honesty, at that point, he didn't think that he _could_ stop. Something like an animalistic urge took control of him as he realized that he was now fully seated inside of his lover and that primal part of himself that always reared it's ugly head in these moments took control. It wanted to claim what was his until nothing else mattered. His hips moved, almost of their own free will and Quatre cried out, feeling Trowa thrusting in and out of him, almost as slowly as he had initially entered him.   
    Those cries only made that primal urge bolder and soon, hardly thinking of his boyfriend's comfort at all, he fell into a faster and harder rhythm, eagerly thrusting into that tight heat over and over again. At first, all Quatre could feel was the pain. He cried a little as Trowa moved faster, feeling like he was going to get torn apart. It was just a little, though, and it was easy to pretend that the wetness was sweat. But then, that magical thing that always happened, happened. It was like some sort of switch had been flipped inside of him and all that pain suddenly felt alright. He thrust down, meeting with Trowa's movements and this time, his moans were only pure pleasure. The pain was still there, but it ceased to matter to him at all.  
    Trowa and Quatre hadn't noticed it when they had chosen the guest room that they were in, more concerned with searching for their friends. Or perhaps they had seen it and had conveniently ignored it for the sakes of their own sanity, but in the room, there were three mirrors. On the far left wall, towards the entrance of the room, and directly behind them on the wall stood two, full length mirrors, while on the far right wall hung a small, round one only a foot wide and perfectly round. This one reflected the dark, naturally, and looked like an empty pool of still water, but the other two, at some point since the two boys had entered the room, had become disturbed.   
    Unseen by either of the pair, even by Quatre and his third eye, three figures watched them as they mated in a fervor, moaning and carrying on in their own, private world. In the far left mirror, a figure dressed in white sat, curled in a perfect vision of misery. As it watched the two, living boys, it sobbed in longing, sorrow, and fear, it's chestnut hair almost completely hiding it's once pleasant face. As it wept, in the mirror directly behind the boys, two other figures, identical to the first only in looks, watched on. The Child watched the spectacle of life before it in utter boredom. Holding it's hand, like a proud parent, The Darkness peered down at the teenagers mockingly, as though it was beholding some great, hysterical joke.   
    Blissfully unaware of their twisted audience, Quatre and Trowa continued. Trowa's grip on his lover's hips left bruises on his fair skin, and Quatre's fingers had left long, ragged cuts across Trowa's shoulder blades as they had dug into his skin, but neither of them even noticed or cared, even when one of Quatre's cuts on his back opened up again and bled a wet trail down the curve of his rear, the dusty air suddenly smelling of rich copper. When Trowa came inside of his lover, he wrapped his arms around him and hugged him to him, his hips jerking sporadically as he nearly screamed. Quatre followed him only seconds later, his orgasm bringing him to silent tears of joy and relief.   
    As the euphoria of his climax edged off enough for him to actually regain his senses, he realized that they were laying down on the futon suddenly, and he was still crying, but that was alright. It felt good to cry, almost as good as it had felt to come. He felt a bit of the acidic poison inside of his gut release, like a terrible cramp letting go. But when he felt Jean move, try to pull out of him now that his erection was beginning to soften inside of him, he felt only horrible panic.  
    "No!" he cried out and wrapped his legs around Trowa's waist again, keeping him where he was, "Don't go."  
    "Quatre-" Trowa began to protest, but that only made Quatre more afraid.  
    "Please," he begged, pressing his face against Trowa's chest, "Please don't leave me. Not yet... just a little while longer..."  
    Trowa paused, but then Quatre felt his arms around him again in relief. It felt like he was being surrounded, smothered and absorbed into the boy that he loved, like he was ceasing to exist outside of him.   
    "Just a little while longer," the French boy agreed tiredly, secretly not wanting to separate himself from his lover anymore than Quatre did, "Sleep, love. I'll keep watch."  
    All at once, Quatre realized just how exhausted he was. How long ago had it been that they had slept? It felt even longer than the last time that they had eaten. But who really knew? He closed his eyes and knew that he was going to be able to drift off. Something deep inside of his head needled at him, screamed at him not to, trying to gain his attention, but it was like someone from very, very far away calling his name. It wasn't important.   
    Quatre fell into a deep, dark sleep, like he had been drugged. Trowa followed him only minutes later, the two of them swallowed up into a dream.   
  
  
End Part 6  
  
Author's Note: A bit of a shorter part because it felt like a good place to end it before the next scene. Jumping back into this after working on ASOL for almost a year was really jarring. For one, the feel of these two stories and their structures are vastly different, and for another, one is in first person -_-  
  
  
      
      
      
  



	11. Chapter 3 Part 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quatre and Trowa get thrown into a vision of Duo as a child, lost in the mansion during a storm after hearing something terrible from his parents.

Beyond the Looking Glass  
Chapter 3: Dolls  
Part 7  
  
  
    Quatre was well practiced in knowing the difference between a dream and one of his visions. It was one of the first things that he had discovered about his ability, that not all of his dreams were just products of his mind. They were rare, but sometimes while he slept, he saw things. Visions of the past were even rarer, but sometimes he saw people that he knew were long dead, people like his mother. He had even seen a few visions of the future, things that, when he had been too young to spot the difference, he had thought that he had dreamt, only to see them come true later while he was awake. One his classmates getting a puppy for Christmas. Trowa getting into the college that he had wanted. His father succeeding in having a big business deal go through.  
    But more frequently, Quatre dreamed of the present, of things that were happening while he slept. He supposed that the right word for it was astral projection, a talent some had for leaving their bodies and traveling through spirit. While his body slept, his mind wandered and he was able to, not just see things happening far away from himself, but feeling what other people were feeling at the time, hearing what they were thinking. After awhile, he had gotten better at knowing which was which, a dream or a vision.     The visions that he had while he was sleeping always felt more potent to him than even the ones that he had while he was awake. Instead of getting mere flashes of things, like a car driving past him, it was more like he was pulled into the vision, submerged in it. But the visions that he had been having while in the mansion were something else entirely. Sure, sometimes he would get those flashes of impression, like seeing a brief glimpse of the past, blood on the walls, eyes watching them... But then there were also times when he had that feeling of submersion. In those times, it didn't feel so much like he was drowning in the past as he had been kidnapped by it.   
    No... that wasn't entirely it, either. It was more like someone had pulled a veil off of his eyes and was showing him a world under the one that he was aware of, and he knew exactly who that someone was. What was frightening about the visions wasn't how incredibly real they were, or even the things that Quatre saw, but that he wasn't the only one that was having them. He could understand Trowa seeing them when he was physically touching him, that had happened before, but Heero had had them, too, and Quatre couldn't figure out the reason for that. Was it just a coincidence? Did Duo have the ability to pull any of them into those visions, or was there something special about Heero? Because he had come so close to death once?   
    And why? Why was Duo showing them these things? Was he trying to tell them something, to show them his past so they could stop what was happening in this place? Or was he trying to torture them with them? Or, maybe, he had no control over the visions at all, and they were just falling into these... spiritual equivalent of cold spots. It stood to reason that, if Duo was infecting the mansion, then perhaps his feelings and memories of his past life were as well, maybe even like living things all on their own.   
    So Quatre was perfectly aware, and not the least bit surprised, when he found himself walking through a familiar corridor of the mansion that he wasn't dreaming at all. He had that same strange, disjointed feeling that he always got when he was having a vision while he was sleeping. Beyond that, it felt too real and too unreal at the same time. He could feel a light breeze coming through an open window somewhere and smell the faint aroma of spring flowers and incense that someone was burning far away. The wooden floor under his feet felt solid, although it didn't creak when he took a step forward. He knew that it wouldn't. He wasn't capable of affecting anything that he saw. In this place, he was the ghost. He was the one that didn't belong.  
    At the same time that everything that he sensed was too real to be a dream, he was also keenly aware of that out of place feeling, that he was an intruder and the things that he was seeing didn't belong to him. He knew immediately that what he was seeing was another one of Duo's memories, or maybe even the memories of the mansion. The only thing that really startled him, was seeing Trowa there, standing by his side and looking around them with a puzzled, almost drugged expression of one who has no idea what is going on or how they've ended up where they are. His lover looked just as bewildered to find Quatre there.  
    "You fell asleep," Quatre accused him, but that felt so hollow to him and he couldn't muster up any heat or even bitterness after his boyfriend had sworn to take watch.   
    It wasn't like Trowa staying up would have mattered anyway if anything had happened, and it was a comfort having him there with him. Anything that happened in this vision... at least neither of them would be alone.   
    "Is... is this..." Trowa struggled to ask, his eyes wide as he looked around the corridor.   
    "It isn't a dream," Quatre told him.  
    Trowa didn't ask how that was possible, he knew that if he touched Quatre, or sometimes was just too close to him, while he was having these visions, he could get sucked up into them as well.   
    "This place..." the taller boy murmured, looking at the large, double set of doors in front of them.  
    "It's the room that's locked," Quatre confirmed, but the word that suddenly blazed in his mind was 'restricted', not locked.   
    He remembered how Wufei had whaled on the door the last time that they had gone to it, stating that he was sure that something important was behind it. Quatre got that impression for himself as he looked at it in the vision, that whatever lay beyond that door was important, but it was something that they were not allowed to see. No... not them, Duo. That was where these feelings were coming from. Whatever room this was, Duo remembered that he was not allowed to go in. But it wasn't locked in the vision. In fact, one of the doors was slightly ajar and they could hear voices inside. The voices were familiar, the most familiar in the world, so maybe... just maybe... it would be alright to go in, wouldn't it?  
    Quatre shook his head, trying to dislodge the childish, alien thoughts that were invading him, only to stop, his eyes wide with shock, when something moved through the two of them. A small child, perhaps five or six or even seven years old walked slowly and cautiously towards the door. He was a tiny, pale thing, thin and fragile looking, like a strong wind would blow him over, and the pristine, white kimono that he wore made him seem even more delicate somehow. The boy's chestnut hair, wound in a tight braid, only fell to his chest and his violet colored eyes were wide and bright, but Quatre instantly recognized him.  
    It shouldn't have surprised him to see the host of the vision there, but for the first time since they had seen the spirit, Quatre didn't feel an ounce of fear towards the boy that they were looking at. It was impossible to. He was too small, too helpless to be the evil thing that was hunting them in the waking world. Besides, when Quatre tried to compare the ghost with the child that he was looking at, a child with smooth skin unbroken by the gashes and blood that his dead self had, he only felt heart broken.   
    It was hard sometimes to remember that the evil presence had once been a human and that all the things that it was doing wasn't necessarily because Duo had once been evil and it was relishing in the killing, but because something had been done to him. Something that had destroyed the boy that was creeping up to the large doors and peering through the crack to the inside of the room.   
    "It should be soon," Quatre heard a feminine voice say, coming from the room.  
    Immediately, he had a sense of comfort, the same comfort that he had always felt when he had seen his mother's spirit as a child, but this feeling was mixed in with others as well. The most powerful amongst them was a deep anxiety.  
    "He is not ready," a deep voice said and there was that feeling again, comfort and familiarity the likes that only a child can know.  
    'They're Duo's parents,' Quatre realized.   
    "He knows his duty," Duo's mother argued, "He knows what is needed to keep the Darkness at bay."  
    "Knowing is a different thing than understanding and conviction," his father countered, "Duo is young still. He knows what must be done and why, but he is not prepared enough for what he will face in the dark, what is waiting for him. There is more that he must know, when he is a bit older."  
    "The kannushi (1) say that the time is within the year, no matter his age. Duo was born late."  
    "The signs are not present. The Darkness is still held at bay. We may have many years yet before it begins to seep out. Duo is the only one who can keep it contained. If we must wait for his strength to grow, then that is what we shall do."  
    "It is not our right to question the kannushi. If they say that it is time-"  
    "I am the leader of this clan," Duo's father snapped at her, anger bleeding into his usually firm and well controlled voice, "and I will be the one to decide when the sacrifice is performed. Our crops flourish, the earth is quiet, and the mirror is still. It is not time."  
    "Is it truly not the right time," Duo's mother asked coldly, almost bitterly, "or are you simply too unwilling to have Duo perform his duty? You are too sentimental with him-"  
    She paused and Quatre wished that he could see what Duo was seeing with the way that he became pale.   
    "I beg your forgiveness," his mother said in a softer, contrite tone after several seconds of silence, "It is not my place to question your decision."  
    There was another long pause before Duo's father spoke again, not sounding angry with his wife, but remorseful, almost sad.  
    "It is a cruel thing," he said softly, "Perhaps, it is the cruelest thing, to sacrifice one's own child, but it is what kami (2) requires of us. I will do my duty... so shall you and so shall Duo, when the time approaches. He is too young still, and that is our punishment to bear, for not conceiving him sooner. If the Darkness were to show itself, I would do what must be done."  
    "And Duo?" she asked in an almost whisper, "He is prepared, but when he's older, if he knows the truth..."  
    "He will know it," the head of the family said with firm conviction, "Just as all the previous sacrifices knew. He will be prepared for what lies beyond the mirror."  
    "I've read what it says in the texts, about that place... about what the Darkness is..." her voice cracked with some strong emotion and Quatre suddenly felt that anxiety grow into a confused fear.  
    "The Mirror Sacrifice must face The Darkness and overcome it, no matter how It tries to pervert them. They must reside there, in the dark where it lives beyond the Origin Mirror, and contain the Darkness within themselves. In the dark, they will feel the agony of the sacrifice forever. They will never know reincarnation or leave that place. _That_ is their duty," Duo's father said sternly, "and Duo must face this destiny just as all the others have."  
    Duo stepped away from the door, his hands shaking a little and his eyes wide with horror at what he was hearing, but he still didn't dare to cover his ears or run.   
    "Can he?" his mother asked softly, "He is so weak and sensitive. He cries often and fears the dark more than anything."  
    "All children... no," the man amended, "all people fear the dark. It is merely our instinct to fear our greatest, ancient predator. This is especially true for the Mirror Sacrifice. Duo fears the dark like a child, and that is only natural, but he also knows that it is his fate, his adversary, which is only more so. He will come to accept it. He will learn to overcome his fear, as well as the endless pain and eternal conflict with The Darkness. It is our duty to see that he is prepared for this fate, and it is our duty the Matsuei line after the ritual is performed, just as it will be our child's fate to perform the ritual again when his child comes of age. For now, we will postpone the ritual until the time that Duo is prepared and The Darkness emerges. Until that time, Duo must study and we must continue his cleansing ceremonies-"  
    The child quickly turned from the open door and walked down the corridor. Servants bowed to him as he passed, but he didn't notice any of them, wrapped up in his world of shock and fear. He had known all his life that he was fated to be sacrificed to hold The Darkness at bay and had accepted that. He was the only one that could do it, otherwise... otherwise everyone that he knew, everyone in his family, his mother, his father, Hiiro, and everyone in town would die and all sorts of terrible things would befell the world. He knew that.  
    But no one had ever told him what that meant, what would happen to him after the ritual was performed. That he would have to reside in the eternal darkness with _it_ , fighting it and being in pain forever... why had they kept that a secret from him? His hands continued to shake and he clenched them in his kimono to get them to stop. 'If that's what has to happen to me,' he thought, 'then that's my fate. Father is right, I must do what must I do, this doesn't change anything,' but that thought did nothing to stop the fear in his heart, the fear that he had had for as long as he could remember of the dark. And the fear of the pain that he was to face.   
    He kept walking until he found the doors that led out to the main courtyard and the expanse of porch, sliding them open and walking outside. He stood, frozen, on the porch and looked out onto the courtyard, into a night that was almost as black as pitch. A full moon shone down from an equally black sky. He loved the moon and had always found it's white glow to be beautiful, but right then, there was nothing beautiful about it. It reminded him of a corpse, although he couldn't say how since he had never seen a dead body before.  
    'It's impossible,' he thought, 'It was day just now, how could it possibly be night?'  
    Before he could really ponder how the sun had gone down all in the time that he had been eavesdropping on his parents, he heard heavy footsteps around the corner of the porch and, not knowing why, terror seized him.  
    ' _He's coming for you_ ,' a voice whispered in his head. The voice was familiar, similar to his own thoughts, but there was something eerie about it that Duo didn't like, ' _He's coming to kill you_.'  
    The child gasped and, even though he had never heard the voice before, it's familiarity made him trust it. He ran down the small steps and onto the courtyard, but it was too dark and he fell to his knees. _The Darkness had found him_ , he thought and almost screamed with it, even though he had no idea where that thought had come from. This wasn't The Darkness, it was just night... wasn't it? He crawled under the porch, tears pouring down his pale face and his breath hitching. It wasn't time yet, his father had said so. It wasn't time yet and he wasn't ready. He didn't know what he was supposed to do!  
    The footsteps sounded above his head, faint dust floating down from the boards and tickling his nose. Feeling his nose itch, wanting to sneeze, Duo clamped his hands over his nose and mouth, terrified that he was going to make some sound to give away where he was. Right in front of him, he saw a man walk past his hiding spot and realized that he recognized the person's attire and gait. It was his father. He sobbed into his hand. He wanted to scream for Hiiro. Hiiro always knew what to do.   
    A hand, as cold as a doll's, wrapped around his arm. At the verge of screaming, he glanced to his right and saw... himself. Even in the dark, the sight of his own violet eyes glimmering at him was unmistakable. It should have been a comfort, seeing himself, but when the other him smiled at him, there was something terrible and frightening about it, even more frightening than the sight of his father searching for him. The other him lifted one finger to it's pale lips, miming him to be quiet. Duo stared at it in horror, wanting to be as far away from him... it as he could when a large hand grabbed him and dragged him out from under the porch.   
    "No!" he cried, "I am not prepared, you said so yourself, father! I will fail!"  
    It was that thought that drove him into terror above all else, not just the dark and the pain or even his fear of the unknown in the face of his impending death, but the thought that he did not know what he was meant to do. How could a child, even one that was blessed like he was, fight such an immense evil? Even his mother had her doubts that he could and he knew what the price would be for his failure. His father did not heed his cries as he carried him over to the well and held him over it by the front of his kimono.   
    "It is time," his father intoned in a flat, emotionless voice.  
    It was too dark to see his father's face, but the moon illuminated the thick shard of mirror that he clutched in his hand. It shone like something alive and Duo felt a horror that was completely indescribable looking at it, not from it's sharpness, but something else. It had some quality in it that was akin to monstrous, but the reason escaped his young mind. He opened his mouth to plead with his father again, to beg him to tell him what he should do, how he could possibly exist in the dark, when his father raked the shard of mirror across his throat, silencing his voice.  
    Duo felt like he was drowning, choking on his own blood and that terrible, coppery taste. Then he was falling. Falling into something beyond pitch blackness. And then he was drowning. Cold water, like shards of ice, like thousands of shards of mirror, was pricking him and engulfing him.  
    'The well,' he thought numbly, 'I'm in the well.'  
    He tried to flail his arms, to grab at the stones of the wall, but his body wouldn't move. He was sinking into that black nothingness, only it wasn't nothing. It was there. The Darkness. It was waiting for him. And it was... it was going to...  
    'It's going to eat me,' the thought came like a blow and Duo screamed as clawed hands made of blackness grabbed at him, ripped right through him, but even his screams were swallowed up as he sank deeper and deeper into the abyss.  
  
*****  
  
    A roar of thunder and the simultaneous sound of some loud, crashing noise rose Duo from his nightmare with a sharp cry, just shy of a scream. He sat up in his futon, panting, sweat making his hair and the thin, blue yukata that he wore for sleeping cling to his skin. The way that his long braid wrapped around him from tossing and turning felt like ropes or hands holding him down and he struggled against it, flinging it over his shoulder with shaking hands. He felt disoriented and it took a few seconds for him to realize that he was blind, with the exception of a brief flash of lightning. It was completely black where he was, not even a slight glimmer from a lantern could be seen.  
    'No, no,' he thought in terror, grabbing at his blanket and holding it up to his chest as he trembled, 'It was just a dream! I'm not there, I can't be there, I _can't_!'  
    But he couldn't shake that feeling of the darkness all around him, like he was breathing it in, being smothered by it. He desperately felt at his neck, but even though it remained smooth and undisturbed by a gash, he didn't feel the least bit comforted.   
    'I'm in my room,' he thought and he knew that that was the truth.  
    He was sitting on his futon, not in some strange place or even in the well. He was inside. He could hear rain pelting the roof and outside walls as well as the rhythmic banging of the shudders over his window, letting in a strong breeze. All things that he had been incapable of sensing in his dream as he had sunk to the bottom of the well.   
    'But why can't I see?' he thought in terror.  
    That sound, Duo realized. The wind must have opened his shutters and a strong gust must have blown out his lantern. If he could find it, he could light it again.  
    'And the darkness will go away,' he thought in desperation and untangled the blanket from his legs.  
    He kept on his knees, not wanting to walk into anything, and used his hands to search around his futon in the area where he knew he had left both the lantern and the matches, but to his ever growing fear, they were no longer there. The wind had probably blown the matches off the table he had put them on and knocked over the lantern. It was a miracle that nothing had caught fire while he had been sleeping. But while that should have made him feel relieved, he didn't think that the matches had just been blown away. No, the word that he thought of was 'moved', like some sinister being had done it on purpose.   
    His heart hammered in his chest like a drum and Duo could feel tears gathering in his eyes. He couldn't see anything, and he had nothing to light the lantern with, even if he could find it. The darkness was never going to leave him. And who knew what was lurking there, where he couldn't see? Monsters. Things that wanted to hurt him, to eat him. Maybe even The Darkness itself. In the light of day, such things weren't possible. The Darkness was sealed away, for the time being, his father had said so himself. But in the dark, it _could_ be there, watching him, wanting him.   
    'Hiiro will save me,' he thought childishly, 'Hiiro will be able to find the matches and the lantern.'  
    Duo seized on this belief and called his guard's name. He was just in the next room and even with the storm outside, he was always able to hear him when he called for him, even when he was sleeping it seemed. But for the first time... the very first time since Hiiro had begun to look after him, there was no answer.  
    "Hiiro!" he called again, his voice quavering as he was suddenly sure, suddenly positive that his friend would not answer him.  
    The dark had taken him away, too, just like it had the light and the matches. Even as he tried to tell himself that he was being silly, that Hiiro was probably too deeply asleep to hear him, he began to cry. He felt like he was the only person in the entire world, lost in the dark. Maybe The Darkness had come and taken them all away from him after all. Maybe he had already failed.   
    ' _I know where Hiiro is_ ,' a voice in Duo's head said, it's voice almost lyrical and sweet, but there was something about it that chilled him at the same time.  
    It took him only a moment to realize that it was the same voice that he had heard in his dream. That made him shake even harder and he wanted to scream. How could a voice that he had only dreamt about be in his head?  
    ' _I can lead you to him_ ,' the voice promised.  
    Duo paused in his fearful misery and listened to the voice. It was a strange, alien thing, and he was frightened of it, but it knew where Hiiro was. If it was willing to bring him to Hiiro, it had to be a good voice, didn't it?  
     _'Yes_ ,' the voice agreed, it's tone whispery and soft, _'and Hiiro will save you from the dark._ '  
    He accepted what the voice said with the innocence and trust that only children can have, rising on legs that were not quite steady. He didn't bother to try to locate his setta (3), but walked carefully on his bare feet. With his memory of the layout of his bedroom and groping blindly at the wall, aided by the quick flashes of lightning, Duo made it to his door and slipped out onto the hallway. In the pitch dark and all alone, the mansion that he had been born in and spent every day of his short life in seemed like another world. He used the walls like a life line as he navigated through the dark, that strange voice continuing to whisper to him and lead him where it wanted him to go. The darkness made him feel like he was going mad, unable to know what was in front of him and it didn't take him long at all to become terribly lost.  
    'Light. I need to find light,' he thought on the verge of tears like a man dying of starvation felt towards food.  
    ' _Hiiro is where the light is_ ,' the voice assured him.  
    Duo suddenly became overwhelmed with this sense that he knew where Hiiro was, too, and boldly walked forward until he came to a door. He sensed what the door was even before his hands touched it. A thrill of fear shot through him at the same time that he felt, very keenly, that he needed to be beyond that door.  
    'I'm not supposed to be here,' he thought and took a step back, away from the door.  
    ' _Hiiro is there_.'  
    'How can he be?' the child thought, 'This place is forbidden, even to Heero.'  
    But the voice remained adamant and that feeling grew stronger, the feeling that Heero was there, waiting for him to find him.   
    'The door is locked. It is always locked. Only father and the priests have the key.'  
    ' _Open it_ ,' the voice insisted.  
    Duo hesitated, but his terror of the dark was stronger than his fear of doing something forbidden and he pulled at the door. To his shock, the door opened with a creaking sound that was louder to him than the thunder raging outside. He stood there at the doorway, scared to go inside, and feeling like he was standing at the mouth of some dark, nightmarish cave. He didn't want to go inside, but he had to. Hiiro was waiting for him, the voice had promised and while the more logical part of himself asked him why his friend and guard would ever go to this place, especially in the middle of the night during a storm, the rest of them felt the surety that he was. He took a tentative step inside and felt the hair along the back of his neck stand straight up, but that was probably from the eerie cold of the place.  
    The Hallway of Mourning. It was one of only a small handful of places that Duo had never seen in the mansion, a place that even he was not allowed to see. At least, not while he was alive. No one, with the exception of his father and the priests could enter it before the ritual. For Duo, because it was unseemly to visit the place where his body would reside after he was sacrificed, a bad omen, and everyone else because it was not their place. The hallway was a place of sorrow and seriousness, a place of death. It's purpose was to house the bodies of the departed sacrifices until it could be determined that their spirits had truly passed on and their bodies couldn't become possessed, which was the reason why mirrors of any kind were strictly forbidden in the hallway.   
    The hallway's second purpose was in it's name itself. Mourning. It was a place for the sacrifice's guard and parents to meditate over the sacrifice and pray for the spirit. It was not a place to give thanks for the protection of the ritual, that would come later, at the shrine. It was the only place, and the only time, that anyone could show sorrow for the sacrifice. Otherwise, Duo's tutors had told him, the ritual would become tainted with evil spirits born from the grief of the living.   
    Duo flinched as he walked forward and felt one of the many ropes that hung from the large, red torii brush his shoulder. He didn't like how it felt, being touched by it, like the light brush of fingers from some sinister hand. The ropes were holy, he had learned, imbued with power from cleansing the bodies of the sacrifices, but they didn't feel holy to him. They felt frightening and he didn't like wondering if the rope that had touched him had once been wrapped around the neck of one of the previous sacrifices. He kept to one of the far walls, away from the ropes that hung in the middle of the hallway and walked slowly forward.  
    "Hiiro?" he whispered lowly and was startled for a moment when his voice echoed.  
    In the dark, it was hard to remember that he was in a hallway at all. There was a chill and a feeling of dampness much like the cave in his thoughts. It was all too easy to forget that where he was and there were many times as he walked along the length of the hallway that he thought that he was lost. There was no answer to his call. Was Hiiro really there, just further up ahead of him? Had they passed each other in the dark?   
    A heavy, foreboding feeling in Duo's gut almost made him turn around and go back. It was panic, just beginning to fester, but his desperation to be with his friend had him continue on. He walked and walked, following the wall of the hallway and calling out Hiiro's name every few minutes. Only silence and darkness greeted him, almost in eternity, and that panic began to grow and grow.   
    'Hiiro isn't here,' he suddenly thought and felt pure terror burst in him as he realized, all at once, that that was the truth.  
    Hiiro wasn't there. Quite possibly, he had never been there at all. That voice in his head stayed suspiciously quiet, like it was mocking him, laughing at his misery. Or just as likely, he had dreamed it up. Maybe he had been sleepwalking this entire time.   
    'What am I doing here?' he thought, freezing where he stood and shaking like he had been drenched with ice water, 'Where am I?'  
    He began to pant, unable to catch his breath. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his fists to the side of his head.  
    'This is merely a dream,' he thought desperately, 'It has to be only a dream.'  
    But when he opened his eyes, it was still there. The sickening darkness. It made his stomach churn and for a moment, he thought that he might actually vomit. How much longer did the hallway go on for? It seemed like he had been walking for a very long time.  
    'I'll just turn back,' he thought, fighting against tears, 'That's all. I'll walk back and find Hiiro's room and he will be there. Even if he is not, he must return to his room at some time. He would never leave me.'  
    That thought gave him the first ounce of comfort that he had felt since he had woken up and he turned where he was, feeling at the wall, and began to walk back. He walked and walked and walked until he started to feel a doubt in the back of his mind. He didn't look at it, didn't want to acknowledge it when he was already so afraid. But as the minutes turned into what felt like hours upon hours, it reared at him. The thought was 'I should have gotten to the door by now.'  
    It was no trick of his mind, he realized in panic. He had been walking for a long time, longer than he had going the other way. It was impossible that he had not come back to the start of the hallway by then. But he was still walking forward.   
    'There is no door,' he thought in near hysteria, 'I'm trapped here forever. I'm lost. There is no door and there is no light and no one is ever going to find me.'  
    "HIIRO!" he screamed, his voice echoing all around him.  
    He listened as the echo dissolved into maddening silence, like the walls of the hallway had absorbed his voice and robbed it of what little power that it had.  
    'Or the ropes.'  
    Duo fell to his knees, his back pressed against the wall, and began to sob. He drew his knees up to his chest and hugged them tightly, shaking.   
    ' _He abandoned you_ ,' the voice accused, ' _He abandoned you to the dark_.'  
    'No!' Duo's thought screamed in denial and he shook his head frantically, 'Hiiro promised that we would always be together, that he would always be by my side, for the rest of my life!'  
    ' _He lied. They all lied. You are alone and when your father sacrifices you, you will be alone for eternity. Hiiro is happy to be away from you, if only for the time being. Taking care of you is a chore he must perform, but he is only a child himself. Why would he want to always be by your side when it was not even his choice?_ '  
    "Stop!" Duo cried, clamping his hands over his ears foolishly, even though he knew that it would do nothing to stop that strange voice.   
    "He will come for me," fat tears tracked down the child's face, belying his words, "Hiiro will find me. He always finds me."  
    He pressed his face against his knees and tried to drown out the voice as it sneered at him, calling him a fool. He wasn't a fool. Hiiro _would_ come.  
    "You promised," he murmured.  
    What seemed like hours, maybe even days, passed by as Duo remained there in his tight, little ball, too frightened and confused to move from where he was. Scared of the dark and scared of getting even more lost than he already was. Outside, perhaps the sun had already risen, but in the hallway, that didn't matter. That there was light somewhere outside of it was irrelevant. In the hallway, it was as dark as night ever was and it seemed like time itself had been swallowed up by it.   
    A sudden, sharp noise coming from the far left from where Duo was huddled had his heart freezing right in his chest. He lifted his head, looking towards the source of the noise uselessly. His tears were making his vision blurry, but he could see something moving in the dark, which was completely impossible. But impossible or not, there _was_ something there.  
     _'It knows you are here. It's been waiting for you_.'  
    Duo didn't need to ask the voice what 'it' was, he just knew, instinctively. It was a screaming, wordless voice in his head, an iron band around his heart, and a swarm of wasps in his guts. The Darkness. It was there, in the places where his eyes couldn't see, but it was still there, he could _feel_ it.   
    'I'm not ready,' he thought in terror and curled his arms over the top of his head, pulling his body into an even tighter ball as he squeezed his eyes shut, 'I can't face it, I _can't_! Mother was right, I am too weak. What can I possibly do?'  
     _'It's going to eat you, just like in the nightmare.'_  
    Duo felt a terror so strong in his throat that he felt like he was going to vomit.   
    ' _Run_ ,' the voice urged.  
    But he couldn't. He didn't know how to get out of this hallway, or where he was going. There was no running in the dark, and even if he could, how could he ever get away from _it_? The priests said that The Darkness was an ancient, powerful thing, like a kami. A force of nature, a thing older than time. How could anyone run away from such a thing? Besides, he was frozen with fear. He couldn't even stand. He heard footsteps coming closer and closer to him, around the bend of the hallway and had to bite his tongue so he wouldn't scream. He tasted a little bit of blood in his mouth and for some reason, in that moment, it was sickening. The footsteps stopped, no more than a few feet away from him and he cried into his kimono.   
    ' _I don't want to die_.'  
    The thought didn't come from that strange voice in his head, but it seemed alien all the same and he puzzled where it might have come from. He didn't want to die? That was a foolish thought for the Mirror Sacrifice. He was glad to perform his duty, even if it was frightening. If he had to die so that everyone could live... if Hiiro could live and have a family when he got older, then that was what he wanted. That was all that he wanted. This was the reason why he was born at all, his entire purpose. His mother and father had said so. So how could he possibly think such a terrible thing as 'I don't want to die'? But thinking of that thing in the dark coming up to him and... and _eating_ him, he didn't feel like the Mirror Sacrifice at all. He didn't feel pure or strong or blessed. He felt like a scared child.   
    "Duo?"   
    The child's head shot up from his grip around it as he heard a very familiar, and very welcome voice call his name. A voice that he would have done anything at all to have heard just then.  
    ' _That is how The Darkness will catch you. It knows what you fear, and it knows what you desire. It likes to trick you and give you hope, just so it can take it all away again._ '  
    But Duo ignored the whispery voice. There was another one that was much stronger and he didn't care if it was a lie or not. It chased away all of his terror. He opened his eyes to a low light, the most welcoming thing in the world. The light was coming from a small lantern that Hiiro held in his hand, his friend standing only five feet away from him. It had been his footsteps that he had heard, not a demon's. Fresh tears burst from Duo's eyes, but that was alright. These were happy ones.  
    "Duo!" Hiiro cried again and rushed to his charge, putting the lantern down next to the younger boy and falling to his knees in front of him, "I have been looking for you all over the mansion!" he exclaimed, looking just as scared as Duo had felt moments before, "Why did you come here? Are you hurt?"  
    Duo shook his head. He was many things, but he wasn't injured.  
    "I... it was dark and I was scared," he wiped at his tears, suddenly ashamed that he had been crying and Hiiro could see it. Hiiro was always so brave and strong. Why couldn't he be like that? "I couldn't find you. It was so _dark_."  
    Hiiro smiled softly, fully aware of Duo's nyctophobia and reached out to help him dry his cheeks. Duo let him, his chill leaving him at the feeling of those familiar fingers on his cold skin.   
    "It's alright, I'm here now," he vowed, "You don't have to be scared, it is only a storm."   
    ' _But where was he when you needed him before_ ,' the voice sneered, ' _Where was he when you were crying for him in the dark?_ '  
    Duo ignored the voice. Before, in the pitch blackness, it had had an incredible power. Now that he was with his guard, it seemed so small and inconsequential, like a ghost of a whisper.   
    "Why did you come here?" Hiiro repeated, "Why didn't you stay in your room?"  
    "I called for you," Duo said in a small voice and for a moment, but only for a moment, his tone was tinged with betrayal, "but you weren't there. I came here to find you."  
    Hiiro's brow furrowed in a mix of guilt and confusion.  
    "The wind opened the windows in my room and the rain soaked my matches. When I saw that you were still sleeping, I went to find some dry matches. If I had known that you would awake in the dark, I would not have left you, Duo-san, you must know that," he said, "But what in the heavens would make you think that I would be here? You know that I am not allowed in this part of the mansion."  
    "A voice... a voice told me that you would be here," Duo said weakly and saying it out loud like that made him realize how silly that sounded.  
    He felt incredibly ashamed, of his fears and childish crying, and realizing that he had ignored his own logic to stay in his room to wait for Hiiro and had, instead, followed a voice in his head. Hiiro looked concerned for a moment, but quickly regained his soft, somber smile.  
    "You must have had a nightmare," he suggested.  
    Duo remembered the dream that he had had, remembered the glass cutting into his neck, and shivered. It had felt so real, the pain as his father had slashed open his neck and not like a dream at all...  
    "Yes," he confirmed, "I had a nightmare."      
    Had that voice even been real, or had he been so frightened that he had conjured it up? The image of that other self of his in the dream, smiling at him before his father had dragged him away came to him and he remembered how much that voice in his head had sounded like himself, yet not himself at the same time. He felt very cold again.   
    "You feel like ice," Hiiro frowned as he brushed his hand over Duo's pale cheek and the child could hear the worry in his voice, the guilt that his charge might get sick from having been cowering in there for so long.  
    Hiiro wrapped one arm around Duo's waist and tucked his other under his knees, lifting him into his arms. While Hiiro was not necessarily a tall boy or much older or stronger than Duo, it was an easy task. Duo was small and thin. A sack of rice weighed more than he did. The long haired boy immediately wrapped his arms around his best and only friend's neck, hugging him tightly. It felt good. Somehow, Hiiro felt three times warmer than he did, like a furnace, and knowing that the solid arms around him belonged to the one person that he trusted more than anyone in the entire world was comforting.   
    His fears of being trapped in the hallway vanished. All of his fears vanished and with Hiiro there, several of them seemed quite ridiculous to him. All those strange thoughts of fear and betrayal felt childish. Hiiro would know what to do, he always did. As long as they were together, he knew that nothing could harm him. Duo didn't relax his grip as Hiiro walked them through the hallway, somehow managing to hold the lantern as well to light their way.   
    To Duo's astonishment, they only walked about fifteen feet before Hiiro reached the door, which was still open. The bend of the hallway had made it invisible from where Duo had been sitting, but there it was, as plain as the moon in the sky on a cloudless night. It was impossible. He had walked for so long, in both directions, and had never found the door, so how could it have ended up so close to where he had been sitting? The only logical explanation was that he had been walking around in circles in the dark. But that was ridiculous, too. How could anyone walk around in circles in a straight hallway?  
    It was true that to call the place a hallway was not entirely true, at least not in the way most people would think of a hallway. It was wide, with a high ceiling, torii lining the entire length of it. But even so, he had kept his hand on the wall the entire time and he had felt the wood of the torii under his fingers. It was highly unlikely that he had just been walking in circles. Even more astonishing was that when Hiiro carried him outside, everything would have remained dark if not for the lantern. Not a single ray of sunlight fell through the closed windows as rain and wind continued to beat against the outside walls. It simply wasn't possible that it could still be night or even very early morning. It had felt like he had been in the hallway for several hours.   
    Had his mind been playing tricks on him the entire time? Had fear overwhelmed him and made him feel like more time had passed? What was more unsettling than even that was realizing that he hadn't been able to hear the rain and the wind in the hallway at all. It had been like he had been cut off from the entire world. Duo did not voice any of these thoughts to Hiiro. His friend would just tell him that he had been imagining things, and that was no doubt the truth. Hiiro brought him back to his bedroom and laid him down on his futon.   
    Duo watched the guard avidly as he went to work on the room. He found Duo's lantern, having fallen and rolled to the opposite side of the room where Duo hadn't searched for it and put it back on the little table by his futon. He used the flame in his own lantern to light it. The lantern was small, square shaped, and made of crimson paper that had the silhouettes of butterflies cut out of it. Lit, it made the forms of butterflies appear on the walls and ceilings of the room and Duo felt himself calming at the sight of that comforting light. It was the same lantern that he had had since he had been a baby.   
    Hiiro picked up the room of various things that had been knocked over by the wind and a few leaves that had come though the window. He closed and latched the shutters, but they continued to bang softly. He would have to ask one of the carpenters to repair it in the morning. Duo's violet eyes followed the butterflies before falling on his friend again. He felt a flash of guilt, knowing how he must have frightened Hiiro by disappearing like that. Nothing that he had done since he had woken up had made such sense and all Duo could blame it on were his silly fears. Because of that, he had troubled the only friend that he had.   
    "I am sorry," he said in shame, averting his gaze and bowing his head a little, "I know that I should have stayed here and waited for you, but I was so frightened. I do not know why I thought that you would be in such a place, I just... got lost."  
    Hiiro sat next to him and smiled, placing a hand on Duo's leg over his yukata. Even through that cloth, Duo could feel how warm his hand was.   
    "There is no need for you to be frightened, Duo-san, not ever. There is nothing in the dark to harm you, and I will always be here for you. I will always find you," Hiiro vowed and pulled up the blanket around Duo's legs, "You are still so cold. Perhaps, in the morning, I will bring you some onion soup. If this storm carries on much longer, it is sure to be a chilly day," he said, glad that Duo had been wearing his long sleeved yukata and not his customary, sleeveless kimono.  
    Duo smiled back at him in gratitude, the thought of soup was indeed a pleasant one. Even though he was back in his room, he still felt chilled for some reason. Hiiro was right, now that he was with him, there was nothing to be scared of at all.   
    'But he won't be with me when I'm sacrificed,' Duo thought sadly, 'or afterwards...'  
    He pushed that thought away as Hiiro stood and went to Duo's dresser rummaging through it for something. Duo watched him do this for several minutes, baffled at what he could be looking for, and even more confused when he found one of Duo's hair combs. This one was a more ornate one, given to him by one of their visiting, distant relatives. It was made of some dark, pleasing wood, with whalebone (4) for it's bristles and soft, thick strands of red thread tied to the handle. As Hiiro sat down next to him, Duo saw that he also had a bell in his hand, taken from one of his toys.   
    Duo watched, completely fascinated, as the older boy untied the tassel from the hairbrush and began to braid the strands together to form a thick, but short, rope, almost like a bracelet that he saw some of the women around the mansion wear. Hiiro tied the bell to one of the strands as he was braiding it before securing both ends so the bell wouldn't fall off and the rope wouldn't unravel. He handed it to Duo, who held it up and flicked the bell. He smiled at the sound that the bell made. It was high pitched and bright, almost cheery. The sound carried, even in the room, and was more noticeable than the larger, deeper sounding bells that the priests used in their ceremonies.  
    "What is it?" he asked.  
    Hiiro took it from him and pulled back the blanket so he could touch Duo's right ankle. Looking to his charge for permission, Heero got it with a confused nod. He carefully tied the small length of rope around Duo's ankle, not so loose that it would ever fall off, and not too tight that it would hurt him.   
    "Keep this on wherever you go," the blue eyed boy told him, "and if you ever get lost or scared again, just keep ringing the bell really loudly, and no matter where I am, I will eventually find you, just like I did tonight."  
    Duo's eyes went wide and he looked down at the bell. It was such a little thing, but he believed every word that Hiiro spoke. If he rang this bell, Hiiro would find him. His small smile grew to one that was heartbreakingly bright and affectionate. He hugged his friend tightly and Hiiro looked shocked for a moment. Duo was not a cold or unemotional sort, but he was shy and did not often show affection so exuberantly. He hesitantly hugged the younger boy back, knowing that it was a bit inappropriate, but he couldn't stop himself. When he drew away, Duo tugged lightly on his yukata sleeve.  
    "Please stay," he pleaded, "Don't leave me alone."  
    The part of him that was dutiful and dedicated to his position almost made Hiiro look away and tell Duo no. Hugging him was inappropriate, but sleeping next to him would no doubt get him scolded by his Master. Duo called him his friend, and Hiiro had privileges that no one else in the Matsuei's service could claim, but he was still a servant. But Duo's face was so earnest and open as he looked at him, so vulnerable and desperate. It would be so much easier, Hiiro thought, if Duo treated him as someone beneath his station, which he was, instead of as equals. Just because they shared everything, it didn't mean that he was worthy of it.   
    But the truth was that he _was_ Duo's friend, his only friend. His own cousins did not spend time with him, and if it were simply a matter of station, knowing that Duo needed to be isolated as part of his duty, then that would be fine. But Hiiro was well aware that the other children in the mansion stayed away from Duo, not out of propriety, but out of fear. He knew that Duo sensed it, too. He was the only person that his charge could talk to, could rely on, and that was a part of his own duty. He had to look after the Mirror Sacrifice, not only to make sure that he stayed on the right path, but to make things easier for him before the ritual. If Duo asked him to stay, wasn't it also a part of his duty to do as he was told?  
    No, that wasn't it. Even at his young age, Hiiro knew that he could not deny Duo what little comfort that he was asking for. Not because he was his charge, but because he was his friend and he was frightened. Even if he knew it was wrong, he was not so sure that he was strong enough to simply turn his back to him. That knowledge worried him greatly, but what was the harm of giving Duo this one thing, he reasoned. Was it really so different from the other times that he had comforted him after one of his nightmares?  
    "Alright," he agreed, "but you must sleep, Duo-san."  
    Duo didn't even make a face at Hiiro's stubborn use of 'san'. He just looked so relieved and Hiiro knew that he had made the right decision, even if Duo's father would not see it that way. The younger boy moved over so Hiiro could lie down next to him. The futon was small, so they had to touch in order for both of them to fit, but it was surprisingly comfortable. Hiiro laid down on his side and Duo sat on the futon, his knees bent against his chest, one hand almost touching the other boy and he could feel the warmth of his body next to him. He smiled when he saw that Hiiro's blue eyes were already half-lidded, obviously exhausted from running around the mansion, looking for him.   
    "Sleep, Teishu-sama," Hiiro murmured, his eyes closing as he finally gave in to sleep.  
    Duo watched his guard sleep for a few minutes, a content, affectionate smile on his face. Hiiro always pushed himself too hard trying to care for him. He would feel guilty about it, and he had at first, but he was coming to understand that that was just in Hiiro's nature. Duo looked down at the cord tied around his ankle and his smile grew warmer. He reached down and touched the braided rope. It was soft and silky against his skin and when he lightly flicked the bell, a sweet chime filled the air. He was not allowed to wear anything ornate, nothing more than his sleeping yukata and ceremonial kimono, but he hoped that his father would let him keep it if he explained what it was for.   
    When he looked at the anklet, and remembered Hiiro tying it around him, the confidence in his voice, Duo felt immensely better, like everything that had happened was just a bad dream that he had had. He remembered Hiiro's vow, that he would always find him, eventually. That promise made even The Darkness seem not so scary anymore. Even in the dark, Hiiro would find him. Always.  
    'He will find me in the dark. Hiiro will always find me, _always_. I just need to be patient and not be so scared and wait, and he will find me and save me,' Duo thought, and lied on his side, curling up and resting his head against Hiiro's chest.   
    He liked how those words made him feel so he repeated them, over and over, until he was finally able to fall asleep.  
  
*****  
  
    Waking from the vision was like falling, only instead of down, it felt like they were falling sideways. It was almost like something had grabbed their insides and was pulling them out of the vision, only it wasn't like that at all. It was almost like.. like gravity itself had become distorted, or the vision had expunged them like vomit. Quatre woke confused and dizzy, almost on the verge of throwing up himself. Everything outside of the vision seemed... smaller somehow, but that wasn't so different than how his visions usually felt. It was like seeing the world all around him in perfect color and scope, only to have someone put a set of blinders on him.       
    And he felt hollow, so very hollow and lonely inside, even though he could feel Trowa's body pressed against his while they laid there, trying to get their bearings. This was a new sensation to him and he immediately hated it. It felt like something precious had been ripped out of him and he knew exactly what that something was. For a brief period of time, he had experienced something that few, if any, humans ever could. He had been inside of another entities memories, inside of their very soul. Both he and Trowa had.       
    That entire time, watching Duo's memories play out, feeling what he and Hiiro had been feeling and thinking, he had not only felt them, but his lover as well. It had been like, for a time, they had been joined. Now, outside of it, it was only him. He imagined that it felt similar to what a new mother feels like having just given birth, losing that feeling of connection...  
    "What the hell was that?" Trowa groaned as he sat up, one hand rubbing at his left temple in pain.  
    "Duo's memories," Quatre murmured, rubbing at his own head.  
    He imagined that Trowa was feeling a similar headache, although his was probably more pronounced since he wasn't used to experiencing such things. He sat up and searched for something to clean himself off with. While they had slept, his and Trowa's fluids from their lovemaking had dried into an itchy crust that had him wincing with revulsion. He found some kind of cloth by the bed and although it could have been some expensive tapestry for all he knew, he used it to clean himself off with. It was regrettable, but the least of his worries at the time. He groped around, using touch more than the soft light of the nearby lantern to find his clothes and dressed himself. What he wouldn't do for a bath or shower... but the only cleaning facilities that they had found had been on the second floor and Quatre really didn't relish the thought of going up there just to wash himself off. If they didn't find Wufei, they would be needing that water, as brackish as it had been, to drink anyway.   
    "Then it's true," Trowa mused as he cleaned himself off the same way that Quatre had and zipped his jeans back up, "what we thought about him. He was murdered for some sacrificial ritual. Being told his entire life that he had only been born so he could be die at the right time, killed by his father in a brutal, barbaric ritual... it's no wonder why he's so pissed off now."  
    "But in his memories, Duo accepted his fate," Quatre argued, his brow furrowing as he tried to work it out, "He was frightened, but not angry. What could have happened to that sweet, shy child that we saw to make him so full of rage and malice?"  
    "No matter what happened," Trowa said as he stood, stretching and working some kinks out of his back, "I can understand how he feels. To be killed all because of some stupid, backwards superstition as appeasing a demon..."  
    "But it _wasn't_ a superstition!" Quatre pointed out, "Sacrificing children is horrible and I'm not saying that what happened to him is alright, but The Darkness... whatever it is... Trowa, I've _felt_ it. It's here, in this place with us. I can feel traces of it everywhere, the same way that I can feel Duo. Whatever it is, it's a part of him, but it's also something separate. The thing that they were trying to appease was... is very real. For all we know, the sacrifices really did work, for awhile at least. This... thing might be the entire reason that Duo is going on a rampage."  
    Trowa ran his hand through his hair and realized that his hand was shaking a little. That was the very last thing that he wanted to know, that there was some evil, powerful force at work in the mansion, not just Duo's spirit. But it stood to reason that, if ghosts were real, then why not demons and devils and every other dark entity that existed in fairy tales?   
    "And Heero," he muttered, but was unable to finish his thought.  
    "I know," Quatre said in a low, haunted tone, neither of them able to recover from their shock at seeing Duo's friend in that vision.  
    He had felt it when he had read Hiiro's name in Duo's diary. This feeling of terror and paranoia in his guts. He hadn't been able to shake it off, even as he had told himself that it wasn't so shocking. There were lots of Hiiros all over Japan. That they spelled their name exactly the same way wasn't all that damning. But that vision... that boy... he had looked exactly like their friend. His face... his eyes... even his voice... it had been exactly the same.   
    'Alright,' Quatre thought, 'So there was once a boy that lived here that looks exactly like my friend. He even has the same name as him, but what does it mean?'  
    That was certainly the question, wasn't it? Because the answer could very well mean their lives. Because the boy that shared the same face with his friend was not just some random person that had lived hundreds of years ago. He had been Duo's only friend, the one person that had always been by his side. Because, all those years ago, the other Hiiro had made Duo a promise, that he would always find him in the dark. What if it was that promise that was keeping him here? If that was the case, then couldn't they prey on that, use that promise, use their friend to make it out of here alive?  
    And suddenly it made sense, in a way. Heero having visions... Heero being untouched by the cuts that the rest of them were plagued with... Duo reaching out and talking to Heero when it hadn't signaled out any other person. That bond that they had shared in Duo's memories was still there. Duo remembered his friend and was reaching out to the one that looked like him. But was that the extent of it? Was it all just some big, huge coincidence and Duo was mistaking their Heero for his Hiiro, and that was all that it was?   
    Or, Quatre thought with a dark, frightening feeling, was the reason for all of this, Heero looking like that other boy and Duo sparing him, so much more sinister than a mere coincidence?  
  
  
End Part 7  
      
(1) Kannushi are Shinto priests that are in charge of religious ceremonies, rituals, and other spiritual matters.   
  
(2) When Duo's family say 'kami', they mean the particular kami that their sect prays to since there are many gods in Shinto.  
  
(3) Setta are a kind of footwear that was worn in the 19th century of Japan. Unlike geta sandals, they are mostly flat, thong style sandal.   
  
(4) Whalebone, not to be confused with whale bone, refers to whale baleen, which was used during this time period for many things for being both flexible and strong.   
  
Author's Note: I honestly can't believe that I managed to get a second part of this out before the end of the month. Writing this story is much, much harder and slower for me than most of my other stories, given the amount of research and the subject matter. I'm hoping to get another part out by Halloween, but with Fatal Frame 5 coming out in just a few hours (we got a wii u now, so I can play it!), I make no promises ^_^  
      
      
  
  
  
      
  



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